This week: Stevie Smith Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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My Heart Goes Out
by Stevie Smith
My heart goes out to my Creator in love
Who gave me Death, as end and remedy.
All living creatures come to quiet Death
For him to eat up their activity
And give them nothing, which is what they want although
When they are living they do not think so.
My Heart Was Full
by Stevie Smith
My heart was full of softening showers,
I used to swing like this for hours,
I did not care for war or death,
I was glad to draw my breath.
On September 20,1902 in Hull England, Ethel and Charles Smith, welcomed Florence Marget Smith into the world. Florence was theSmith's second daughter. Ethel and Charles's marriage fell apart while she was still a young child. Smith's father eventually left the family. Her mother moved them from Hull England to Palmers Green. When Smith was young she developed tuberculous peritonitis and was sent to a sanatorium in Kent for several years. After returning home, Smith's mother became ill and aunt moved into their home to help raise her and her sister.
Smith attended Palmers Green High School. Her mother passed away while she was still a teenager and the girls stayed with their aunt. After Smith finished high school she attended North London Collegiate School for Girls. Upon graduating Smith started working as a secretary with the magazine publisher George Newsnes. From there she became the private secretary to Sir Nevill Pearson and Sir Frank Newsnes. Smith started writing poetry after college, she wrote under the name Stevie Smith, a nickname she got while she was younger. Her first book was, Novel on Yellow Paper, published in 1936. Her first collection of verse, A Good Time Was Had By All, was published in 1937. This book also contained several rough drawings and doodles. Her drawings and her poetry had both a feeling of whimsy and doom. Written in a nursery rhyme structure, yet conveying serious themes. Death seemed to be her most popular subject to write about, perhaps because of her time in the sanatorium and the loss of her mother at sixteen.
Smith suffered from spats of depression throughout most of her adult life. After she suffered a nervous breakdown, she left her job as a secretary. She went on to do poetry readings and broadcasts for the BBC. Smith never moved away from Palmers Green. She never married and spent her life living with her aunt. Smith received the Chomondeley Award for Poetry in 1966. She also was awarded the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry in 1969. Stevie Smith died of a brain tumor March 7, 1971. Her last collection, Scorpion and other Poems was published posthumously in 1972, and the Collected Poems followed in 1975.
Alone In The Woods
by Stevie Smith
Alone in the woods I felt
The bitter hostility of the sky and the trees
Nature has taught her creatures to hate
Man that fusses and fumes
Unquiet man
As the sap rises in the trees
As the sap paints the trees a violent green
So rises the wrath of Nature's creatures
At man
So paints the face of Nature a violent green.
Nature is sick at man
Sick at his fuss and fume
Sick at his agonies
Sick at his gaudy mind
That drives his body
Ever more quickly
More and more
In the wrong direction.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
The Silver Queen sits atop her throne,
her dark knight kneels nearby
witnesses to the blood-soaked curse
and party to the crime.
With stealth and cunning the knight made way
into the midst of the dragon's hoard
and risked enflaming the dragon's ire
to steal away with it's magic sword.
The dragon indeed sensed this slight
and brought hell-fire upon the land
peasant and soldier, all, died in vain
while following the queen's command.
The dragon reclaimed his enchanted sword
and returned it to his legendary cave
then exacted revenge throughout the realm
in search of the perfidious knave.
Now the queen rules over ashes and char
nary a subject nor house remains
just a queen and her misguided knight.
Such immense cost for nothing gained.
Honorable mention:
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Poetry: August 11, 2021 Issue [#10924]
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