My Birthday and Paul Revere's Horse

I promised myself I would memorize Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride” by the time I reached my ninth birthday.

I’d already mastered the spelling of “antidisestablishmentarianism” — I had no clue of its meaning, but someone bet my third grade teacher that she couldn’t teach at least one of her students to spell it. My memory is that she asked me, the star speller in our class, if I’d like to give it a try.

I loved school, loved Miss Elliott, was an obsessive reader well beyond my grade level, and was excited to be picked. To this day, I can rattle off the letters correctly, as long as I do it quickly and don’t over-think.

When we read “Paul Revere’s Ride” in class, it was immediately my favorite because that famous ride happened on my birthday, “the eighteenth of April”. I mean, how cool is it to share my day with Paul Revere and his horse? I still remember several stanzas.

This past birthday occurred in the middle of a critical week in Boston. Broken-hearted, I watched, read and listened to more news reports than I’d done for several years. The courage and resilience Boston and the rest of the country showed touched me deeply.

I had planned to post a wacky “coming of age” poem, about what it means to turn sixty-five. (That’s 455 dog years, if you we’re wondering.) I’ll hold that for another time.

Instead, I decided to share Longfellow’s poem, written in 1860, at another critical point in our history. Yes, Longfellow took some poetic liberties in this work, but his message shines through. As you read it, see if the strong spirit that moved me nudges you a bit, too — especially the first and last few stanzas.

Michele

Paul Revere’s Ride

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,–
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said, “Good night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,–
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,–
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock,
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled,–
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,–
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

The Mark of Abel, by Viola Ryan

So exciting to introduce you to Viola Ryan, an amazing woman in her own right, plus two of her Main Characters who insisted on getting in on the act today to discuss their new book, The Mark of Abel, (details below) the first book in her series. I’ve heard about these MC’s, read some of their words, but this is the first time they’ve been let loose in our blog.

Some teasers before the interview:

Is a frustrated artist Lucifer’s ticket back to heaven or will falling in love with her reawaken the compassion that got him expelled?

Lucifer is fed up with humanity. He created hell to deter evil, but man’s inhumanity is only escalating. He just wants to return home to heaven, but ever since that little problem in the Garden of Eden, the Pearly Gates remain firmly shut to him. It doesn’t help that he’s the first vampire, an abomination in God’s sight.

Fortunately, two thousand years ago Lucifer’s estranged brother, Jesus, gave him a prophecy. To fulfill it, all Lucifer has to do is find the right artist, study her artwork and the path back to heaven will be revealed. The artist even bears a symbol so he knows who she is. Too bad she is murdered every time he finds her.

Janie’s a frustrated artist and college art teacher who wants two things—a guy she can show her paintings to and a night without nightmares. Each nightmare plagues her until she paints it. She doesn’t realize these paintings are key to unlocking her destiny, one that could redeem the original fallen angel.

Wow! Ready to meet the gang?

Michele: Welcome, Viola! You and I have talked about your artistic and poetic characters, and I know you’ve all had quite a busy month. I’m going to let you play lion-tamer here, and be your spotter during this interview. So, the stage is yours, to mix my metaphors . . .

Viola Ryan:  Thank you for inviting us! Both Lucifer and Janie are anxious to explain why they are each right and the other is . . . not-so-on-track. They promised to behave, mostly, so we’ll see. So, I’d like to welcome Lucifer and Janie, the stars of my debut release The Mark of Abel, to The Poetic Muselings.

Lucifer: Roses are red, Violets are blue, Hell is hot, and so are you.

Janie: Luke! Shame on you. Michele was nice enough to let us be here and Viola took time aside from writing the sequel. (aren’t you dying to find out what she’s going to do to us next?) Poetry is important.

Lucifer: What do you know about poetry? You’re an artist. A picture speaks a thousand words.

Janie: But that’s what a poem does. It isn’t the sum of its words. It paints a picture every bit as much as my paintings do.

Lucifer: So no dirty limericks?

Janie: NO! Viola please continue. 

Viola: Thank you, both. You can see why he’s so much fun to write.

Janie: When he’s not brooding over how God has wronged him.

Lucifer: God wronged you, too. And I don’t brood.

Janie. Sulk? Pout? Whine?

Lucifer: Not funny. 

Janie: Not even a little bit?

Viola: (laughing), more than a little bit. Back to the interview you guys. Geeze, it’s like I’m  writing The Mark of Abel again. You two like to go on your own little paths regardless of what I want you to do. 

Lucifer: And you love every minute of that.

Viola: Maybe.  Back to the interview. Since we are at the Poetic Muselings, I thought we’d talk a bit about Janie’s art and art in general. Janie’s been reincarnated many times, but she’s always an artist of some sort. Why do you think that is?

Janie: Art always speaks to something deep in me. I have to paint or express myself someway or I’ll explode.

Lucifer: You are creative and a priestess. Put those together and you get some type of artist. Poets, too.

Viola: What do you mean a priestess?  You aren’t exactly chummy with God anymore. 

Lucifer: There is a greater truth to this universe that supersedes even God. Janie’s art helps people reach that. That’s what good art does.

Janie: I didn’t know you felt that way. I’ve always believed that. Art is a way to reach a deeper understanding. That’s why I teach art appreciation at Archer College. Art speaks a language that lives deep inside us. A picture does more than speak a thousand words. It speaks things words themselves cannot. It reaches our souls. It feeds our souls, something modern society starves for. That’s why society needs artist of all sorts, including poets.

Viola: You mentioned you’d explode. Can you go into this?

Janie: I have horrible nightmares. If I don’t paint them, they build up inside me. The pressure is intense. For awhile I tried to resist painting them. I want to paint happy paintings, like Renoir. First, my muse fled. She wasn’t going to let me paint anything pretty. Then I felt tingles in my extremities. I was constantly flexing my hands to try and shake this off. It didn’t work. Eventually, I felt like I was having a heart attack, like my heart was actually being crushed. I had to give in. As soon as I started painting my nightmares, the pain went away.

Lucifer: It’s a good thing you kept painting them or we never would have figured things out. They were–

Janie: No spoilers.

Viola: Thank you. Your paintings are one of the most important twists in the book.

Lucifer: Hey, what about me? I’m not the red horned, pitchfork wielding Devil everyone knows and hates.

Viola: I know. I said, ONE of. Of course the reimagining of Judeo-Christian stories is the most important twist and a lot of fun to write.

Lucifer: I like being the first vampire.

Viola: I’m glad. It’s getting to be dinner time here for me, so do either of you have anything else you’d like to say?

Lucifer: Ladies first.

Janie: Isn’t he cute? He really is a gentleman in many respects. What I’d like your reader to do is give him a chance. A lot of what you’ve heard is wrong. He’s no teddy bear, but he’s not a bad guy.

Lucifer: Thanks. I should say something nice here about Janie, but she’s laid her heart out and there is nothing more beautiful than that. Words would just mess things up. I  wish I could write a poem demonstrating how wonderful she is, but I can’t. Maybe your readers can do that.

Viola: Thank you both for coming. Thank you Michele for having us. Feel free to ask us anything in the comments. We’ll be around if you want to chat.

Michele: Thank you, Viola, Lucifer, and Janie. I love the intricacy of your story, the intensity, and creative re-presenting of issues. Things are never what they seem. I know you are all working madly on the next book, and hopefully, working together! We’re so glad you joined us.

Our readers can add their comments to this post, and we’ll make sure you have a chance to respond.

We’re including links to your awesome Book Trailer, (LOVE the soundtrack!) and publishing details. The Mark of Abel is in ebook now, and will be in print in September 2013.

MuseItUp Publishing:  http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=516&category_id=69&manufacturer_id=250&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Mark-of-Abel-ebook/dp/B00B0FSH9A/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1358130524&sr=8-4&keywords=The+Mark+of+abel

 Trailer Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UayqdSPMFMQ&feature=youtu.be

And a bit about Viola Ryan:

A very good friend of Viola Ryan in high school said, “You don’t think outside the box. You blow the thing up.” Sometimes boxes need exploding. That’s why she’s here. She has a whole bag of C4 and isn’t afraid to use it. She’s blessed with people who treasure her eccentricities or at least put up with them.

Sometimes the box can be a cozy place. Without some sort of stability, her two daughters’ and her life would be unmanageable. That stability comes from her husband. He’s the rock holding her family together.

On the flip side, his career is anything but stable. He’s a Chief Marine Safety Technician in the US Coast Guard. They’ve lived from Kittery, Maine to Yorktown, Virginia. Fortunately, the moves have all been on the east coast. Then again, the Coast Guard tends to guard the coast.

Her oldest daughter (16) was born on Cape Cod, not far from Plymouth. Massachusetts. Her youngest (12) was born in Yorktown, Virginia, down the road from Williamsburg. Viola jokes they’re doing the colonial America tour.

Social Media Links:
Website: http://www.violaryan.com/ 
Blog: http://violaryanauthor.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jeanie.ryan.9
pinterest: http://pinterest.com/violaryan/
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6922260.Viola_Ryan
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/violaryan

Meet Kitty Barton, Author and Emerging Poet

Today we’re delighted to have Catrina (Kitty) Barton join us. Kitty became a new Moderator during the 2012 Muse Conference, and was an active member of our Poetry Workshop. She considers herself more of an author than poet, but we recognized the lyrical quality of some of her writing, and the depth of emotion in several of her poems, so we believe she can proudly wear the title of Poet, too.

Catrina Barton is a real go-getter, who turned her avid reading addiction into a vigorous passion for writing. Especially Young Adult Romances. She draws on her knowledge as a Kung-Fu Instructor to make her fight scenes both realistic, and action packed.

When not indulging her fertile imagination to craft stories for your reading pleasures, she enjoys hiking with her family, and amateur belly dancing.

Her love of writing, and her family, rival by her exhilaration from helping fellow writers. She is a proud member of many writing and marketing groups, an active participant at Critique Circle, and several other crit groups.

She’s sharing three poems. The first two were written before the work shop. The final on was written during the workshop, during the Persona Poem exercise. Enjoy her poems and comments, below.

My one, my only

Cold and lonely was my life
Lost in darkness knowing only strife
Forever to drown in sorrow and shame
Until into my life you came
Appearing before me pure as a dove
To show and teach me a miracle called love
Never again will I be lonely
Thanks to you, my one, my only.

—

Only Bliss

Surrounded by mist
We dance and twist
Our bodies in tune
Beneath the moon
Both in our prime
In a rhythm old as time
Entangled like this
We know only bliss

—

Persona Poem:

My computer

I sit before you each day, watch you staring at me but we never play.
You use me to play with others but never give me a passing thought,
unless I act up and then you’re annoyed.
Show me some love and help fill my void.

 Kitty says:

I adored the variety of enlightening workshops and have applied all of the lessons I learned to my writing since them. {Especially to my upcoming novel release} I enjoyed meeting so many awesome people, who are as passionate about writing, reading, and helping others as I am.

I am a published author since June of 2012. First full length novel due out the end of March.

Words of wisdom: Do not miss the next Muse Online Conference. 🙂

Favorite personal quote:

“An author cannot grow without both constructive criticism and encouragement.”

My blog for writers: KittyB78.wordpress.com/

Other Social Media Links:
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6423796.Catrina_Barton
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KittyB78
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Kittyb78

Boundaries and Compassion

Lisa Gentile, Moxie Mavericks Life Coach and Mentor Extraordinaire, has pushed, prodded, and supported the Poetic Muselings from early in our adventures. We’ve maintained an on-going exchange of ideas, building on our progress and plans. With the new year’s map unfolded on our virtual table, it seems a good time to share some of Lisa’s material on setting boundaries while maintaining compassion. Food for thought, with our reactions and additions woven in.

As the recent series of posts show, we’re excited about our projects, and new ways to approach them. Balancing the Plan Stage with the Action Stage is always difficult.

We encourage each other to stretch, do big, hairy, scary things. Act as cheerleaders and critics, as the situation called for. We try very hard to listen to the words, and hear what’s behind them, to temper our support.

Sometimes we succeed, and sometimes we need to pull back; we, as friends and professional colleagues, cannot fulfill all the roles all the time. Sometimes, the subject is too close to us for us to separate ourselves from the problem.

We each have our own networks of friends, acquaintances, professionals, and family, who are the intricate web that support or entangle us. Sometimes both. We’re called on to provide support to those “others”, and rely on them for the same. What we need isn’t always what we get.

What follows is from Lisa. In many ways, her words grant us permission (if we need it) to step back, reclaim our space and know we deserve to protect ourselves — with tools of compassion for all parties.
***

It’s okay to protect ourselves from someone who has behaved unjustly. We can strive to do it without judgment.

From “Self-Compassion” by Kristin Neff:

“Discriminating wisdom clearly sees when an action is harmful or maladaptive, and when we need to protect ourselves from those with bad intentions. However, it also understands that all people are imperfect, that we all make mistakes.”

“It’s useful here to draw a distinction between judgment and discriminating wisdom. Discriminating wisdom recognizes when things are harmful or unjust, but also recognizes the cause and conditions that lead to situations of harm or injustice in the first place.”

When we feel vulnerable and we need to reach out for compassion, it’s okay to be selective about our confidant.

From “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brene Brown:

“We have to own our story and share it with someone who has earned the right to hear it, someone whom we can count on to respond with compassion . . . We definitely want to avoid the following…:

The friend who takes on your pain so you end up comforting her.
The friend who responds with sympathy rather than empathy.
The friend who is disappointed in you.
The friend who is so vulnerable that she scolds you or looks for someone to blame.
The friend who is made so uncomfortable by mistakes that she denies your story.
The friend who speaks as if one-upping you is the same as connecting with your vulnerability.”

We all do all of the above from time to time and may continue to be good friends to others. But when we are vulnerable we need the right friend for the occasion.

“When we’re looking for compassion, we need someone who is deeply rooted, able to bend, and most of all, we need someone who embraces us for our strengths and struggles.”

Our exchanges have given me something to think about in terms of tactics for erecting these boundaries. I am open to further thoughts on the matter.

Lisa Gentile, M.S.
Moxie Mavericks Life Coaching
http://www.moxiemavericks.com
http://www.facebook.com/moxiemavericks
http://www.twitter.com/moxiemavericks
lisa@moxiemavericks.com

***

Once again, thank you, Lisa.

Building on what Lisa has identified above, we invite you to ponder the following questions, and to answer with your heart:

How do you choose your confidant?
How do you recognize and communicate the type of feedback you need?
How do you recognize unjust and/or inappropriate comments or actions from others?
Does it happen repeatedly with the same person or people?
Specifically, what tactics have you developed to protect yourself in these situations, separating you (the recipient) from the message and sender of that message?
How and what do you communicate in this scenario?
How do you remain compassionate, but protect your personal boundaries?
How do you heal yourself after such an encounter?
What form of creativity helps you re-center and move forward again?

Please share your ideas, and what you’ve learned on your life’s path. Recognize your strengths; identify where you may need to establish boundaries; trust yourself to try effective methods others have developed; and maintain a sense of compassion for yourself.

In a few weeks, we’ll collate the responses into a follow-up post, so, you can continue to add to your own comments, and build on the thoughts that other people present – like an ongoing dialogue.

Thank you for your courage to participate.

(If you would like your comments to be anonymous, you can send them to me at the following, and I’ll add them in:

Michele Graf — poetic DOT muselings AT gmail DOT com. Drop the spaces, and substitute the dots and at.)

Note – these photos were copied from internet sites before I knew how to identify their priginal sources. I’m searching for that info, so I can properly credit them; if you know the source, please tell me so I can add it in. Thanks.