Continuing our celebration of National Poetry Month, we welcome guest blogger Sandra Bernard. Sandra is a Newaygo singer-songwriter, poet, essayist, producer of musicals and one-of-a-kind free spirit who leads the weekly open mic at River Stop Café. For several years, she also led a weekly writing salon to encourage and mentor local writers. Sandra comes from a long line of creative and gifted musicians, writers and artists. She has collected some of her family's stories, photos, poems and recipes in her book, You Are What You're Fed. Here's Sandra, sharing her thoughts and three of her poems . . . ![]() That old adage, you don’t know what you got 'til it’s gone, never applied to my life—never!! My life has been a deluge of interesting characters: inventor/dreamer types, accomplished painters, writers, and musicians who embrace eyebrow-raising, good or bad, and wear it like a badge of courage. From a master water colorist who could twist the English language into wordy, witty tales as easily as he painted sadness into an array of clear blue vases on a paper canvas, to storytellers who ran hooch for Al Capone and outran the law in the Kentucky hills, to those who played fiddle tunes and sang hair-raising hill harmonies in five mystical parts. ![]() As far back as I can remember, such gifts were celebrated, applauded and enjoyed to their fullest in my family. I've always been grateful to, and respectful of, those who taught me how to succumb to that kind of pleasure and cleared the way for creative thinking and inspired daring. ![]() But star-gazing, humor-dipping and word-weaving, while wildly inviting, all have their downside. Clearly, creativity mixed with daring is not conducive to long-term relationships. Oh yeah, in the short-term maybe they're exciting, but only until the reality of the dark side of the moon reaches its rope's end, on both ends. You’re not likely to find breadwinners more than one time out of ten thousand. There will be a lot of mood swings and job changes. Creative thinkers require an inordinate amount of alone time, which tends to stick in the craw of most spouses. Three weeks of intense silence will produce two pages of writing, which may or may not be worthy of print. Balancing checkbooks and paying bills will more likely feel like a punishment than a necessity. ![]() While they're often labeled as lazy, unorganized and incapable of managing time or prioritizing "normally," these are only symptoms of an underlying obsession of thoughts and fixation. Day and night the mind runs at warp speed and the least little thing said or done can inspire a whole chapter, song, or painting in a three-hour period. (For writers, that constitutes three months of rewrite time and years of collective dissecting in the mental lab.) Eating is not a priority. Sleeping can be sporadic, with sudden spurts of genius at three am. Yes, spouses of the creative don’t know what's gone till they’ve got it. It's a kind of sadomasochistic life, dotted with power surges and self-loathing for being incapable of staying in the lane. But as the years have passed, it seems I've somehow grown into that skin with a little grace, I hope. I’ve learned how to rein it in a little on the outside, while still harvesting the fruits of my inward madness. Aging allows others to accept and almost expect eccentricity, and that’s good for me. ![]() It's working out, for the most part. Romance has gone by the wayside, but that's probably for the best. As a parent, watching my children struggle through creative mine-fields is about the only time any regret seeps in. But then they paint a painting, or sing a song, or write a lyric that reveals the depth of their spirit, and regret swiftly springs into pride and admiration. Learning to dance like no one's watching is embedded very early in life, maybe even through the gene pool and from the womb, but when encouraged and licensed in life it can create moments that sparkle as bright as the sun and light the entire vicinity on which they fall. Oh yes, I did know what I had when I had it, and I'm thankful for that. ![]() If I Should Fall Asleep The body turns, it cannot rest When you’re too tired to go forward You just start looking back Good mother West . . . one more setting sun So many things I shouldn't have And more I should have done Just lie down here by me now You don't need to speak I just don't want to be alone If I should fall asleep But if I've gone before you wake Don't let your heart be shattered For I'll be traveling beyond the stars Far past those things that mattered ![]() The Photos at Wright's Gallery A photo of a child's weather-beaten toy At the edge of an overgrown pond And one with a child's half eaten cereal in a bowl Left on the steps all alone They were dark and filled with a sad lonely view The kind no one can defend Photographs of an unclaimed boy Showed at Wright's Gallery at ten There was one with an empty baby pram Off to the side in the weeds But the icy cold bridge Where someone's clothes lay I almost couldn't breathe They were dark and filled with a sad lonely view The kind no one can defend Photographs of an unclaimed boy Showed at Wright's Gallery at ten Awards and accolades were dispensed And curious people called it art But I knew they were only photographs Of a small boy's broken heart They were dark and filled with a sad lonely view The kind no one can defend Photographs of an unclaimed boy Showed at Wright's Gallery at ten ![]() Mantra There are no lines Only circles I believe that We pretend that things begin and end But they never do Thus good is part of bad Bad part of good And there is no dark without light And vice versa Watch the water go to ice Ice to liquid—liquid to gas Back to water again Like love . . . hate . . . and forgiveness Perhaps one state more desirable than the other From this eye But the eye is a circle The heart is a circle Dreams are circles What we wanted and needed then and now From different views We only pretend that things begin and end . . . But there are no lines Only circles . . . . . . I believe that
19 Comments
Sally Kane
4/20/2016 08:10:48 am
I love the emotional honesty in Sandra's story and poems.
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Nan
4/22/2016 06:18:55 am
Yes!
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Sandra
4/22/2016 08:35:13 am
Thanks Sally...sometimes my honesty is a curse...but it does help for writing
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4/20/2016 08:14:35 am
What an interesting person to get to know here in your blog, Nancy. Thank you both for the thing I really needed to remember this morning.
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Nan
4/22/2016 06:20:02 am
I'm happy to be able to introduce Sandi and other interesting folks from these parts to those who haven't had a chance to meet them in person.
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Sandra
4/22/2016 08:33:54 am
Thank you Linda
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Valerie Deur
4/20/2016 09:24:24 am
Thanks for sharing Sandra's thoughts here on your blog. We have & love her book and all within. As Sally Jo said, we are very fortunate to have Sandra and her family in our community. We are also lucky that you and Ray chose our area to live and share your talents & love.
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Nan
4/22/2016 06:21:40 am
Thanks Valerie. We feel lucky to be here. XOXO
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Sandra
4/22/2016 08:33:17 am
Thank you Valerie....ditto to you on being thankful that you are in our community reminding us of what we need to pay attention to
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Ray
4/20/2016 11:40:30 am
Sandi is not only a great entertainer, but also a great poet. Love ya!
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Nan
4/22/2016 06:22:15 am
Ditto!
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Sandra
4/22/2016 08:31:17 am
Thank you Ray
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Kathy
4/20/2016 01:15:27 pm
Really enjoyed Sandra's post.
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Sandra
4/22/2016 08:30:38 am
Thanks Kathy for reading and enjoying
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Tom
4/21/2016 03:22:44 pm
Like a lot of truly talented artists, Sandi underestimates her gifts. But the rest of us can be thankful she had the curiosity to open the doors of perception and the courage to walk through them.
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Nan
4/22/2016 06:18:27 am
Amen to that!
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Sandra
4/22/2016 08:29:50 am
Thank you so much...encouragement is a blessing I'm lucky to get
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Sandra
4/30/2016 09:13:35 am
Thanks so much J.Q.
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Written from the heart,
from the heart of the woods Read the introduction to HeartWood here.
Available now!Author
Nan Sanders Pokerwinski, a former journalist, writes memoir and personal essays, makes collages and likes to play outside. She lives in West Michigan with her husband, Ray. Archives
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