Poetry at Fall Market

 

MEETING AT THE MARKET

 

Yesterday at the Fall Arts & Crafts Market while selling copies of my books I met Jacob, a senior at Irmo High School, who took an interest in my poetry chapbook Time Carries All Things Away. Jacob is a senior, taking a class with poetry and doing his own research. He plans to go into performing arts, and his bright brain will get him there if he has any luck.

 

Poetry gets a bad rep because it’s either simplistic or inscrutable. If you have an advanced degree in poetry, you may be able to decipher Milton, Yeates, or even Langston Hughes. The ordinary person has to read a while to find meaningful poetry in what is published today. This isn’t meant as criticism, it’s an observation. Poetry, like any branch of knowledge, takes shape in a range of forms.

 

But coming back to my conversation with Jacob and what got me to thinking. I wrote Time Carries All Things Away because there are things and people I don’t want to give up, even though their time has passed. Moments, some of them long since gone, were life-confirming or life-challenging, and poetry is a way for me to remember them.

 

That is to say, Time Carries All Things Away is like an album of peak moments and the peak may be heaven ward or hell ward.

 

poetic form

 

 

IS IT POETRY OR DOGGEREL?

 

Poets are urged to write verses that reimagine life, rather than report it. We are cautioned against “telling.” Rather, we’re to creatively construct imagery in such a way that the reader can interpret for themselves the poem’s message.

 

However, I find motivation to write some of my poems when I just want to tell the reader something, or it may well be myself I’m writing to. I can know something without knowing that I know it. And when I put words to subconscious knowledge, it becomes conscious and then I want to get it off my chest.

 

 If numerous meanings can be deciphered from the lines, that’s okay, but in this instance, I write with one interpretation in mind, one that I hope to communicate.

 

Below is one of my poems that is an example of what I’m talking about. It addresses the idea that our curiosity and longing to know what we don’t know is a double-edged sword. It brings about our renewal and our destruction.

 

THE EQUATOR

 

To realize what you don’t have

 

initiates inventions

creates consciousness

inspires exploration

causes growth

 

initiates envy

creates violence

inspires wars

causes destruction.

 

 

I know the poem is going against the grain, no imagery…too explicit, but I’m calling it a poem anyway.

 

 

Poem published in Last Stanza

Check out my poem in Last Stanza

 

POEMS ABOUT "THE NEIGHBORHOOD"

My poem “Downtown Neighborhood” has been published by Last Stanza Poetry Journal. Though I don’t live in an urban area, my sons have. Visits with them have convinced me that there are essential differences in your approach to life depending on where you grow up. If it was Brooklyn, your tastes and mores vary from those of a person from rural South Carolina and vice versa. That’s not to say one is better or worse than the other, just different.

Issue #23 of the Last Stanza focuses on “The Neighborhood.” It’s available in 1) black and white softcover, 2) eBook, and 3) color illustrated hardcover. Paperback is $12.95, about the cost of a hamburger and fries.

The hamburger will only make you fat whereas reading a magazine (esp. poetry) will sharpen your brain cells. Do yourself a favor. Buy and read the latest Last Stanza, or any book or magazine for that matter.

I hope you’ll take a look.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GGQXBHW3/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&dib_tag=se&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.PJXp2H4uP_TtTmta1saBBQ.XE452Me9xM_2tiIBKcF8GUvB3BHfz0nIeTOYDAnRJTU&qid=1768406125&sr=1-3

 

 

Words vs Numbers

 A LOOK AT WORDS AND NUMBERS

I suppose most writers are fascinated by words, as I am. Recently in a poem I wrote, I take the position that everything that exists  (whether physical, mental, emotional) has a word. In essence, you can’t think of something (much less write about it) if there’s no word for it. My hope is that readers will realize this premise is questionable. And as an aside, is it possible that language limits our imagination?

IS THERE A DIFFERENCE?

We communicate not just with words, but with numbers. I’ve told my sons to think of numbers as a different language. Some people hold that we developed numbers just as we developed words in a language. There are other people who will argue that there’s a difference. Numbers are not invented, they’re discovered.

ALL THINGS ARE NUMBER

So said Pythagoras. That is to say, the physical world, everything you can see, smell, taste, feel, or think is quantifiable. And with the discovery, or maybe it’s the invention, of calculus, even relationships and movement can be communicated with numbers.

UNIVERSALITY OF NUMBERS

Now that I’m into numbers over my head, I’ll back out by saying that math was my worst subject in school. Nonetheless, our fascination with numbers and our dependence on them has never been greater. Seems we’re on our way to proving Pythagoras correct.

DATA ADDICTS

For the entertainment of mathematicaphiles, The Week magazine provides a column titled “The Bottom Line.” The shear amount of data collection and analysis is mind-boggling. Numbers relay meanings and can affect our opinions, maybe even change our mind. Several random samples from The Week:

25% of unemployed persons are age 25 and over

64% of Spotify’s most popular podcasts in 2024 were men

The average commuter spends a record 63 hours a year stuck in traffic

Consumers plan to spend an average of $890/person on holiday gifts, food, etc. 

 A book titled Book of Unusual Knowledge, a Christmas gift, states that it took about 30 million hours for Stone Age workers to build Stonehenge. Who figured that out and how?

 

SCIENTIFIC EVIDENCE?

Now I’m getting around to another point.  More and more research and/or scientific findings depend on data collection and not infrequently on polls taken of participants.

ARE THESE FACTS OR DATA DRIBBLE?

From The Times (UK) researchers analyzed data from 86,00 adults across 27 countries to find that learning a second language may help slow aging. (As if the only variable in 86,000 people is the number of languages they speak.)

Ultra-processed foods made up 55% of the food Americans ate from 2021 to 2023 according to the Centers for Disease Control. (What’s the definition of ultra-processed food?)

Researchers at the Univ. of British Columbia discovered that people are happier doing activities when sharing with others. Some 41,000 participants were quizzed on how happy they were doing three activities. (How happy? How reliable is a person’s opinion of their own happiness? And what if they’re asked on a bad day?)

 

Failing To Yield

 

OPEN TO DOUBT

My poem, “Failing To Yield,” has been published in the Spring/Summer issue of Quartet Journal. In an oblique way, the poem questions the value of prayer. When I was younger, I expected that by prayer I could reach God, who would intervene in an emergency and change things for the better, especially when difficulties seemed too hard to bear. For example, when my mom had a stroke, I prayed that she get better. When that didn’t happen, my lack of faith was at fault, at least that is what I was taught.

I have friends who, when they’re sick or have something like cancer, ask me to pray for them. I have to wonder what they expect of my prayers. And I wonder what I expect of those prayers.

Of course, prayers are of no use in saving lives or relieving pain, at least not physical pain. A prayer only has an effect, if at all, to the person who is praying. I pray for spiritual guidance, which I hope will give me good judgment and courage, but so far my prayers haven’t given me confidence in myself or God.

Every dead person is the same

 

WHAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE TRUE

 

I write poetry. I don’t necessarily write what I think is truth—or untruth for that matter. Thinking, for me, is neither true nor false. Really, isn’t it? Well, my thoughts can go a long distance without a label as to true or false.  

What’s real and what’s not real is a question I do think about. By that I mean real/unreal in a physical sense, not metaphysical (I’m dodging the argument that philosophy’s vocabulary deals with reality). Anyway, I’m sitting at my desk writing on my computer. That’s real, or at least I think it is.

 

Sometimes it’s not easy to separate physical from metaphysical lines in poetry. The murky, out-of-focus terrain between physical and metaphysical is one of the reasons I read poetry. Those lines throw a wrench into the brainworks. 

 

In writing poems, I want to make assertions that you can’t prove or disprove. For example, the last line of my poem “Lunch in a Belgian Chateau,” published in Last Stanza Poetry journal is “Every dead person is the same.” I can’t prove every dead person’s the same, but you can’t disprove it. I have a dear friend who would challenge me on this, but religious faith in an afterlife doesn’t rate as proof. 

Quartet Journal

 

 

CAR ACCIDENT AS INSPIRATION

The May edition of Quartet Journal will publish my poem “Failing To Yield,” which is about an auto accident that occurred at Fairview Crossroads some years ago. The Crossroads has been the scene of a number of accidents, in part because it is the intersection of four roads: Hwy. 178, Neely Wingard Rd., Calks Ferry Rd., and Wagener Hwy. 

 

I didn’t view the accident, but I was there when the EMS arrived. There were a number of us standing on the sidelines in silence. The hush was broken by the wailing prayer of the grandmother who had been uninjured in the accident.

 

A car accident has been used as a point of departure for a number of writers, I’m thinking of novels. Here are several examples of writers who took an auto accident and went into diverse plots:

 

* If I Stay by Gayle Forman – an accident leads to a common trope of memory loss which gives rise to mystery and discovery.

* Age of Vice by Deepti Kapoor – five people are killed in a car accident which develops into a story about organized crime.

* The Heart by Maylis de Kerangal – a car accident begins a story about a heart transplant.

* Home Stretch by Graham Norton – after a car accident involving a wedding party, the driver can’t face living among the mourning relatives and friends.

 

The publisher of my poem, Quartet Journal, is an online poetry magazine with three issues a year—Winter, Spring/Summer, and Fall. Linda Blaskey is the usual editor, but on the masthead for 2025 is guest editor Franetta McMillian.

 

One of the things I enjoy about this magazine is the authors' comments about how they write and what has meaning for them. In the most recent edition, poet Deidra G. Allan wrote that a theme she comes back to is “the great interplay of hope and despair, grief and joy.” Her poem speaks implicitly to this theme and ends with “like a child’s laughter through the open window of a house in mourning.”

More of Quartet Journal at - https://www.quartetjournal.com.

How To Spell Cat

 

My cat Millie

What’s not to like about a cat?

 

They rid your house of mice. They rarely if ever talk out loud or start fights. They warm your easy chair; poop in their potty; and don’t need your attention, though they tolerate it unless they’re in a bad mood. A cat is a good companion just to prove to you that you need one.

 

I once had a cat named Millie (Ironically after Millie came a granddaughter named Milla, short for Camilla).

 

Millie was in the kennel so often she started to think of it as home. We came to realize our travel schedule wasn’t fair to her and gave her to an employee at the kennel.

 

Perhaps people who can’t love cats have trouble with mysteries. After all, you can’t understand everything, in particular a cat.

 

Why don’t cats come when called? Why won’t they go on walks with you? Why do they stare out the window and then refuse to go outside? Why? Why?

 

I wrote a poem titled “How To Spell Cat.” It’s being published in the next issue of Lost Pilots. But don’t expect any hints about understanding cat behavior.

Link to Lost Pilots: https://lostpilotslit.com/

barnyard lowbrow

"SLOP"

Some words give you an idea of what they mean, aside from describing sounds. I’m not talking about onomatopoeia (words such as buzz or boom). I mean words that hint at their definition. Take for example doldrums. It sucks at the back of your throat and shreds off traces of optimism. Or flimflam, which is flippant on your lips, a signal that it’s surface-deep and likely to deceive. Or quirky, which brings a pout to your lips and makes you think of something stretching off somewhere beyond your mouth.

 

What I’m getting to is slop. Judging by the sound, it could be something to stick to the bottom of your shoe and stink up the place. Well, that’s not exactly proving my point. Slop, as any farmer in the 20^th Century could tell you, is food for hogs and it contains scraps from the kitchen, cooked and uncooked.

 

I wrote a poem about slopping the hogs and Main Street Rag has published it (Vol 29, Number 1, Winter 2024) though it’s not yet posted on their website. The poem, “Barnyard Lowbrow” is facetious while describing a moment of recognition that life includes multifarious forms, more than just human, and is better for it.

 

In the same issue is Mark Brazitis’ short story “In the Midnight House,” which begins in an adult-care home where death seems superficial and memory loss sabotages reality. Though you’d think it would be depressing, somehow Brazitis keeps the tone upbeat.

 

The winter issue is not yet available online, but check back in to get a copy. Here’s the link https://mainstreetragbookstore.com/ 

Upcoming issue Winter 2024

 

 

3 poems accepted for publication

PROTESTING

I have never liked the word protester. It’s a relative to the word victim. In the balance of power, protesters are losers. Their weakness makes them squeal rather than fight. I say this knowing full well that many protesters would fight, given the right circumstances. But circumstances have a lot to do with whether we are strong or weak. Over time and without the means to fight, a protester can become a whiner. Having said that, the word serves a useful if not necessary purpose and expands our language.

 

So why am I protesting the word protester? It’s my weakness. One of the poems to be published later this month in the ezine Bloom is a protest. How’s that for shooting myself in the foot?

 

“Period of Uncertainty” is about the predicament of women with respect to pregnancy and birth control. This protest embodies the ultimate power struggle, one in which a woman is pitted against religious belief as well as her own physiology. It ends with these lines:

 

Who will speak of these things
with a tongue untainted by inheritance?

 

"Family Plot" in Last Stanza

 

 

My poem "Family Plot" appears here.

 BONNIE POEM IN The Last Stanza

As curious as it may seem, I played in a cemetery as a kid. We lived within sight of the graveyard at Convent Baptist Church. From the headstones, I became familiar with the names of people buried there. Of particular interest was the age of the person at death. No doubt, my math skills improved from subtracting birth dates from death dates. Because there were graves of infants and toddlers, including my sister Ina Jean who died at the age of three, I understood as a youngster that death didn’t wait for you to get old.

 

The theme of this issue is These Things We Carry. “Family Plot” is the title of my poem. When I think of the things I carry, I think of my memories. The poem is like a stroll through a graveyard where you recognize the names of family members on the headstones, which prompts a memory about them.

 

The Last Stanza is 267 pages of poems and costs $12.95 from Amazon.

 

 

Poems to appear

PUBLISHING UPDATE

 

Three of my poems have been accepted and have appeared or will appear in issues of literary journals.

 

The June issue of The Hollins Critic has my poem “Fed Up” on page 20. I wrote this poem years ago when I was in England for a retreat held by the Arvon Foundation at Totleigh Bartton, which is a thatched manor house located amid rolling pastures. It was my first encounter with hedgerows. The rumor was that Totleigh Barton was owner by Ted Hughes and we writers were hoping he’d make an appearance. However, this gives you an idea about how long ago that was, for Hughes died in 1998. The Hollins Critic is published by Hollins University in Roanoke, Virginia.

 

Editor M. ScottDouglass accepted “Barnyard Lowbrow” for an upcoming issue of Main Street Rag. This magazine, headquartered near Charlotte, NC, is one of my favorite periodicals and not because it is publishing my poem. In any given issue, you can find short stories and poems that are quirky with a heart. Good reading.

 

Editor JennyKalahar of Last Stanza Poetry Journal will publish “Family Plot” in the mid-July issue. I grew up in a house that was within spitting distance of a church and cemetery. This poem has to do with a visit to a graveyard. The Last Stanza is available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

 

It takes time to make submissions to journals, time that takes away from writing. However, it’s obvious that you can’t get published if you don’t submit.

 

coming book of poems

 

COMING SOON, PINT-SIZE POEMS

 

I’ve been proofreading my book of short poems, which will be published with drawings by a 17^th Century Italian artist named Giovanni Bracelli. The poems are from two to seven lines long, which will appeal to those of us with a short attention span.

 

Example of Bracelli's art

Cover blurb provided by my publisher

    We don’t all think alike

    but to some of us life is an everpresent

    enigma. Stanard writes that life “chases me in

    cycles defying viewpoint.” With Bracelli’s

    cubist art as inspiration, she skillfully renders

    compositions that introduce us to an original

    and unexpected reading experience. This is

    a mix of pithy poems, some profound and

    others amusing.

 

Assuming the next draft I receive from Brandylane Publishing has the changes I’ve requested, the book should be in the final stages of production next week.

 

It’s a new and different kind of book for me. I guess you could call it a coffee table poetry book.

 

 

Thinking about the past

 

TIME HEALS?

 

They say that time heals all wounds but does it?

 

This may sound silly, but I remember the pain of learning there was no Santa Claus. For at least a year I denied to myself what was becoming obvious, that Santa didn’t exist and never had. I felt robbed of something that was mystical and amazing.

 

Maybe that was a trivial loss. But I still feel like the walking wounded.

 

On a more serious note, I have lost my mother and father, both long since deceased. That was a wound and time hasn’t healed it. Time has taught me that I can tolerate what I thought I couldn’t. It has taught me that I can continue without my parents, but it hasn’t taken away the sadness and the pain of that loss. However, with the passing of years, it is no longer a shocking pain.

 

Time is a double-edged sword. It gives us memories of moments of joy offset by moments of heartache. That’s one reason I wrote the poems in Time Carries All Things Away ($12.00 plus shipping). Available from me at brstanard at gmail.com. Or Main Street Rag at http://mainstreetragbookstore.com/?s=bonnie+stanard.

 

This is me, sucking my thumb...

The Past

 

THE PAST DOES NOT EXIST

 

During the Thanksgiving visit, my son said, “The past does not exist.” For instance, Napoleon doesn’t exist. Nor does Marilyn Monroe. Or Amelia Earhart. Or Gandhi. Or Malcolm X.

 

In the sense that we can’t call them on the phone, that’s true. According to my dictionary, the definition of exist is to live, to have “objective being.” Objective confused me, so I went back to the dictionary for "not dependent on the mind for existence."

 

Then we can also say quill pens don’t exist nor ice boxes nor passenger pigeons.

 

But do memories exist? Do thoughts? If we say these don’t exist, what would we be without them? If they don’t exist, then what is the word to describe their presence in us?

 

The poetry in my chapbook “Time Carries All Things Away” deals with the past and how it has come to the present in me. Maybe my parents don’t exist, but I exist. I have memories of them. Do my memories exist?

 

My chapbook exists and you can buy one from me or from Main Street Rag. It costs $12.00 plus shipping. Available from me at fairviewnewssc at gmail.com. Or Main Street Rag at http://mainstreetragbookstore.com/?s=bonnie+stanard.

 

Supper in Silence

MY TACITURN FAMILY

Some of us grew up in quiet families. I can remember sitting at the table with my family eating supper in silence. Or riding in the car with my father without saying a word. While in college, I commuted 25 miles to a summer job with my uncle. Those were long silent rides, especially at night, for we both worked the second shift, from 3:00 PM – 11:00 PM. I also remember nights when he woke up when the car bumped off the road. It still puzzles me why I didn’t wake him as he was falling asleep at the wheel. I knew what was happening.

As a youngster, nobody asked me (or my brothers and sister) about my day at school. And my parents didn’t talk about what they did. If a classmate made fun of me, I kept it to myself. I understood that it was due to a deficiency of mine.

In my poetry chapbook, Time Carries All Things Away, I write about a lifesyle of native understandings without benefit of words. Here’s from the poem “My Sister and Me.”

It wasn’t necessary to learn names

of things like weeds.

We knew such as dandelion, spurge,

and clover by their preference

for sun or shade;

by their predilection

for parking or creeping

The poem ends with my going to school and meeting conversations as I had never experienced before. And what a dramatic difference that made.

Time Carries All Things Away is available from MainStreet Rag publishing for $12 plus shipping.

https://mainstreetragbookstore.com/product/time-carries-all-things-away-bonnie-stanard/

Cola Writers II blog posted

DON’T WRITE ABOUT PRETTY FLOWERS

Beginning today my blog is featured for a week on the Columbia Writers Workshop II. “Subjecting Nature” is about our relationship to the natural world. We know we should respect other people and respect ourselves, but what about respect for nature? It’s not something I’ve thought much about, not until I read the submission guidelines to The Plum Tree Tavern.

Editor Russell Streur warns against writing glorified descriptions of our view of nature. According to him, “The river makes its own sounds. So does the mountain. Don't interrupt.”

Interruptions are everywhere in poetry. The wind is a frequent metaphor, especially for the passing of time. Storms describe depression or turmoil. Does this have anything to do with the character of nature? Nature’s worth isn’t dependent on us or what we see in it or get from it. Nature doesn't need us. We need nature. Take a look at the blog.

Photo by Matthew Stanard

Plum Tree Tavern

Sunset in Fairview, SC

TWILIGHT POEM

Plum Tree Tavern has accepted for publication my poem “Twilight,” which describes a moment at the end of the day. Editor Russell Streur wrote that it will appear “a month or so down the road,” so I’m not sure when. Plum Tree is a journal publishing poetry about nature with an interest in ecology.

The guidelines read “The editor...cautions the writer to carefully consider the placement of the ego into work.” This inspired me to think about our ego and the way it affects nature. When we do things that result in the extinction of one species and then another, we’re working our way down a list of species that includes ourselves. I’ve written a blog on the subject. It is scheduled to appear July 12, 2020 on the Columbia Writers Workshop II website. 

Edisto Beach, SC

Writing Poetry

THE UNEASY WORLD OF POETRY

I’ll have three poems published in the Fall 2020 issue of Muddy River Review. Despite my intention to spend more time on prose, lately most of my efforts have been in writing poetry.

The limitations of our language are a source of my ongoing sense of frustration. I try to put into words my ideas that don’t have words. Poetry is the medium that allows me to question meanings, not just of words but of my experiences and concepts.

The older I get the more I realize my knowledge is very limited and not just because of words. In addition to the confines of intellect, lack of experiences has put me into a little box. This has become painfully apparent on many occasions, but especially recently as I’ve watched “The Silk Road” on Prime TV. I come away from every episode realizing what a tiny speck of the world I call my home.

I’ll post a reminder when the three poems will be published in Muddy River. “Uneasy Most of the Time” is about our life style and how it makes me feel. In “Yellow Pears” I wonder if I’ve made a good decision. “Clouds By Degree” is a reminder that bad moods are a part of being human.

Two of My Poems Appear in Going Off-Grid

Scars Publications has reprinted a couple of my poems in its March 2020 collection titled Going Off-Grid. The poems and short stories that appear in this edition are taken from Down in the Dirt, an imprint of Scars.

There could hardly be two poems more different. “Computer Hacker and the Common Brain” is a comment on our unawareness of the digital invasion of our innermost thoughts. “Fairview Farmhouse” describes a farmhouse that has outlived the era of its usefulness.

Going Off-Grid is edited by Janet Kuypers and is available on Amazon for $10.99. 

Next up will be info about my poetry chapbook Time Carries All Things Away. Advance copies can be reserved now at a discount with delivery in August when the chapbook will be released. I'll come back to this.