Please enjoy this interview with the great and talented bubbybubbles12, one of the great member of our group MacroPoetry

Can you briefly introduce yourself? Hi, there – I’m Courtnie! I’m a varied artist, which, in my case, includes writing, photography, and drawing/painting.  I love all forms expression and find joy in sunsets by the sea and morning cups of tea.

What is your writing process?

I only ever write when I feel inspired – it ensures that what I put down on paper is raw and genuine rather than a forced message.  As I write, I scribble words and phrases that feel right.  Then, I rearrange, add to, and remove the parts as I see fit until I can properly capture the thoughts I wish to express.

Addictionmy kryptonite:
It makes me stronger -
Headstrong -
but kills me, for
the longer I inhale
this passion, the
closer i come to
You.
i’ve lost myself
in these eyes,
And I Don’t Want To Be Found.  WeeklySun drops and coffee pots
Were Monday afternoons.
The way his eyes lit up -
That was Tuesday.
Next came movie night,
Then filing our taxes,
And counting the cars that passed
On those busy Friday afternoons.
Saturday was the day we spent apart
And Sunday was my favorite.
Sunday is the scratching sound
Of a pen working on paper,
Of the stories I document
About the stories we wrote together.
And with every ‘plop’ the sun makes when it sinks,
I smile
Because tomorrow is a new story to write.

What and who inspires you?
I find inspiration in everyone and everything.  Everywhere I look, there is a story to be told about the hardworking woman on the train, the terribly persistent lima bean, and the lonely moon.  As a lover of all things, I find it difficult to choose which story I should tell first, but more than anything else, I find that nature and my past speak to me.  Serenity and harsh beauty overwhelm me in the same way that my past and current struggles do, and if I could write about nothing else, I would choose to educate others on the beauty of this world and to beg them not to forget what people have endured.

MoonlightI laid in broken grass
staring up at the sky
and watched the clouds roll by
"west" they said
and onward they glide
and all the while, I see this moon
she waltzes on her own
up the dome
and casts a brilliant spell
like a blanket, or a sword
penetrating the clouds with a special light
one that exists only tonight
that turns them blue and yellow and white
purity and satin
I wonder why they are still moving
where they're going
what on earth could be better than this
Breezes overtake me
Selene whispers lullabies in my ear
From the moon drips a dream
Soft notes dance all the way up
C'est ça l'amour...
L'amour qui fait chanter la vie...
Et je m'envole...
And rest lays heavy on my skin.

Story TimeWhere honey bees blend into sunsets
They sit in a crooked circle
Writing non-love poems
Writing stories
Writing the lives of the living they never knew
As documents or poems or journal entries
Encoded with flavors only the pen knows
And curiously
They pass those words down the line
They read
They think
And pass the papers back, then begin again
With a new dream, speckled with what they know now
Like nascent freckles in the wrinkles of a sun-worn face.

What is the poem you are the most proud of? And why?

There are actually two poems that I think about quite a lot, for items of my past: Persevere and Respite. 

Persevere is a love poem I will always hold close to my heart because it is the first poem I wrote that was truly my own and with a purpose.  It is among a few that made me realize the value in writing, and although it does not reflect my current writing style, it is a treasure for my past self. 

I’m proud of Respite because it’s one of the few poems I personally feel encapsulated my emotions as they were meant to be.  It is serene and reflective, and I always feel the same way when I reread the poem as I do when I think back on that day – slightly burdened but thoughtful and accepting – which, I find, is a difficult and under-appreciated feat.

Respiteleaving the house at 2 am
Step step         up concrete streets
panoramic lights paint the ground
fragmented footsteps are the only sound.
sitting down but above the world
on a mountain looking down at the stars stolen from the sky
in neighborhood windows and street lamps below
lighted for wanderers like her who reap what they sow.
and shadows in those windows move
silhouettes in paintings come to life
then sleep again
because it's 3 am
left alone as lights go out
one goes off and a star returns home
step step           down blackened pavement
back down to earth without the heart she lent PersevereDrag my heart through mud and grease-
The brutal ways you break a soul!
But I'd give you my hand with such ease
Whatever be the toll.
I've lost myself in caring eyes
And fell into a lonely maze.
Though heartbreak will be my demise
I forgive the unrest you raised.
Devotion takes the strongest hearts
And those with laughter to hide the ache.
Hope keeps us clawing till we depart
Still there are some who always break.

 

Do you have any piece of advice that you would like to give to anyone who would like to start writing poetry?
Feel.  Don’t worry about expanding your vocabulary because you will almost certainly find the right words (or rather they’ll find you); furthermore, don’t worry about what a potential reader might think because writing should be personal and solely for you.  Always and only write when you are inspired, and never be afraid of the thoughts in your head.

HeadphonesShe never moved forward, only watched the world change around her.
And she accepts any tune with a strong enough bass -
Something to drown out the soprano -
Screaming, screeching, you see,
It's not for her.
Only the melodies, the singular lines of crescendo,
One note at a time...
That is what matters:
The bottom line that carries the rest of the song upon its back
With its new age harmonies
And old rock static.
All else she can drown out, for
The melody is the singing princess
The bass is the tower
And she is the guard - pushing back complications, pressing aside suitors,
So perhaps Princesse Eden can remain naïve, untouched,
For a little while longer.
Despite every effort, though,
She still hears jazz when she closes her eyes.

The Golden HourThere's this time called the Golden Hour;
At sunset
I saw life for what it is
What it was
What it always will be -
I saw the horizon slip away...
I saw the water turn yellow
And sea melt into sky
So ships became
Miraculous flying machines
And planes bobbed on clouds
Like sailboats on calm waters.
A clean canvas
Or a perfect circle.
Then I thought
maybe
Once is all I need
One life to show how much I love this place
LexaWinter came, harsh and lonely,
and she shivered in the cold.
So I took her heart in my palm
and tried to mend the old.
Springtime blossomed from dried-up tears,
cast down to the earth.
I watched as she wiped them back
and faced her own rebirth.
Summer here was warm and mild --
from the calm she found relief.
I stood back, then, and watched her grow,
exonerated from grief.
In Fall, she'd healed and remembered warmth,
and I saw that she was strong.
She was steel-willed, and lovely, and kind,
with many friends to sing along.
Now Winter is back and you give me thanks
for the strength that I did lend.
In all honesty, dear, the entire year,
I wanted only to be your friend.
Never Mind, DarlingNever mind, darling,
That I will be gone for good
Or that I will be gone for a while.
Never mind that when we part the seas will storm and the rain falls harder
(Ah yes, the weather has always had a soft spot for me).
Never mind that we will be separated by
- not one -
But two bodies, of land and sea.
And though we toss and turn at night,
In parallel motion with the tides and the quakes,
The constant joining for joy is not meant to be in the laws of love -
For you cannot love something dearly till
You have longed for it
Then tasted it with appreciation you never knew existed in you
Only to have it ripped away when you finally declared your devotion...
Never mind, darling,
That the world you once felt was too small
Turned out to be the world you hadn't enough time to embrace,
Nor that you or I may never return,
Only mind, darling,
That though years may pass
And the world may sway
I will be here, waiting for your turn to visit
On this side of those
Brutal waves
and sunny shores
and watch

Thank you bubbybubbles12!