Poems and Songs
I didn't know I liked to write. I've always just done it. Once I realized I wanted to get more serious about writing it became scary. Aah! How do you write to please someone else? What if no one likes the way I write? What if they say mean things about me? or even worse, they give me what they think is nice criticism but it hurts my feelings – and makes me want to stop? What if I'm no good at it?
STOP! I had to tell myself. It doesn't matter much, now does it? And with that pressure off I realized I could simply be myself – and enjoy it. I started to believe that if I was a genuine me I could have great fun putting things down in "me" style. I'll never be Charles Dickens or Beatrix Potter. Oh well. The world is stuck with me.
I've said it before – and I'll say it again – I'm simple (but perhaps in a complicated sort of way). Let me give you a couple of examples:
STOP! I had to tell myself. It doesn't matter much, now does it? And with that pressure off I realized I could simply be myself – and enjoy it. I started to believe that if I was a genuine me I could have great fun putting things down in "me" style. I'll never be Charles Dickens or Beatrix Potter. Oh well. The world is stuck with me.
I've said it before – and I'll say it again – I'm simple (but perhaps in a complicated sort of way). Let me give you a couple of examples:
Mild as a Lamb
Copyright 1998 by Cynthia Dye
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Verse 1
Mild as a lamb, dear child of mine, One of the fold of the Son divine. Follow your Shepherd's call of love – "Come," He's beckoning from above. |
Chorus
He knows the path and shows the way To those who will obey. He weeps for wand'ring sheep who stray And keeps watch night and day. |
Verse 2
Doubt not the Savior's outstretched arm; Stay in His footsteps away from harm. Learn of His great eternal love; Come with Him to your home above. |
As I was writing this simple little lullaby (my first one) there were simply too many ways to say the things I had in my head. So I decided to make myself be confined to tighter boundaries – and I made myself an extra rule: not only did the end of sentences need to rhyme but so did the down beat of each phrase. Hence, "mild, child" and "One, Son" and so forth.
A Still and Silent Night
Copyright 2007 by Cynthia Dye
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Strolling through the silent night,
The wooded lane adorned in white, I turn toward a heavenly sigh– Lo, a Christmas lullaby; Lo, a Christmas lullaby. |
Slowing down my daily pace
Though snowflakes fall upon my face, I glance from here to lands afar; Look! A babe beneath the star! Look! A babe beneath the star! |
Stopping at the snowy field,
Then, with the earth all softly stilled, I hear a distant angel sing: Lord of all, the newborn king! Lord of all, the newborn king! |
Standing in the frosty air
Till quiet thoughts ascend in prayer, I feel a swelling in my heart– Little One, my God, Thou art, Little One, my God, Thou art. |
This is another example of an extra rule that I made for myself. Using the first letter of each sentence, each verse had to spell the word "still." These extra rules make it like a game for me. Remember playtime? Hey! Let's pretend that every other word has to spell the Gettysburg Address. Well, you get the idea. Not all my poems have extra rules, but they all have my playful, lyrical "me" voice.