Poet Laura: Message in a Bottle

As I prepare this final post of my Poet Laura tenure, I echo the sentiment that many have proclaimed throughout the ages: I can’t believe how fast a year passes!! 

In my first post, I was writing from a half-unpacked office space, having just moved back to my favorite neighborhood. Not only am I settled in my home, but the office/guest room now has a comfortably-sleeping occupant, my daughter, nestled in the bed as I type from my laptop on the dining table.

I didn’t plan it, but this post, in many ways, comes back full circle for Random Acts of Poetry Day. A year later, I still appreciate walking through my neighborhood, and have curated paths of different distances and streets, depending on the walk, or run. Throughout the summer, I noticed colorfully painted rocks nestled in tree roots and other spots in the landscaping. A heart here, a sun there, a black cat meandering with its tail in the air. And each of these tokens made me smile.

To celebrate Random Acts of Poetry Day, which was October 2 this year, I thought I’d paint some rocks with poetic lines and scatter them through the neighborhood. But then, on second thought, I don’t even own paints because, well, it’s not my best artistic outlet. And then I started envisioning what the final products would look like, especially if they got rained on…and I shifted gears. Poetry isn’t meant to hold so much stress in the delivery! On to develop a “Plan B”!

One of my favorite posts was June’s, where I tell about the Unicorn Tapestries and my visit to the Met Cloisters, as well as explored the idea of “mixtape poetry.” While planning for Random Acts of Poetry Day, I heard, for the first time in many years, another favorite, “Message in a Bottle” sung by the Police (written by Sting). The song is told by a castaway on an island at sea who sends out an SOS because he was so lonely. After all the years that have passed, I still get the chills as I belt along with Sting:

”Walked out this morning, I don’t believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I’m not alone at being alone
Hundred billion castaways, looking for a home.”

Inspiration, voilá! I purchased little glass vials with cork tops and made my own messages in the bottle from poetic lines, rolled up and sealed, set out to sea. Or the neighborhood. On the back of the paper, I left the hashtag, #randomactsofpoetryday, which I will check from time to time, to see if anyone has posted.

For someone needing a new perspective, a surreal point of view:

Suppose

suppose

Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

young death sits in a café
smiling,a piece of money held between
his thumb and first finger

—excerpted from “Suppose” by by  E.E. Cummings

To inspire the living of life:

Life Doesn’t Frighten Me

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn’t frighten me at all

Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn’t frighten me at all

—excerpted from “Life Doesn’t Frighten Me” by Maya Angelou

For someone enduring heartache:

Milk and Honey

what is stronger
than the human heart
which shatters over and over
and still lives

—excerpted from “Milk and Honey” by Rupi Kaur

I think we all can use this reminder at any given point in our lives:

Risk

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to blossom.

—excerpted from “Risk” by Anaïs Nin

The greatest take-away for me as I close out this year, is that Poet Laura raised my awareness of poetic connections possible in every experience. While I planned adventures, or reflected on the topic for the month and what I’d like to share, my own words reverberated back to me, as well as echoed into the readers’ hearts and minds. I’ll continue to write more intentionally, and seek more poetic threads, as I weave through the next year. And with that, I’d love to pass the feather onto the Poet Laura 2024-25, Sandra Fox Murphy.

Sandra Fox Murphy grew up everywhere as a USAF dependent, rootless, and when exposed to the beatnik poets at Indian Valley College, she was smitten with poetry. After retirement from the U.S. Geological Survey, she’s found herself immersed in storytelling, and ensconced in Texas, she researches small-town history. Sandra is the author of six novels, including Let the Little Birds Sing, the beginning of the Fidelia McCord Trilogy inspired by a young girl who came to Texas in 1847. Aging Without Grace is her first poetry collection, and her poems have been published at the Ocotillo Review, The Write Launch, Humans of the World, The River, and in several anthologies. Her muses are the environment, history, and the natural beauty and mystery of place.

Sandra, consider the feather passed with wishes for a whimsical and surprising year in all the best ways!

Photo by Nick Kenrick, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Michelle Ortega. 

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Michelle Rinaldi Ortega

As a quiet child and angst-y teen, Michelle loved to read and write. When poetry found her again about fifteen years ago, the Tweetspeak community brought her multiple resources on journey, from content to courses to in-person meetups. She hosted Tweetspeak’s very first Mischief Cafe! A speech-language pathologist by day, Michelle's avocations include travel across the country and the globe, as well as digital and black and white film photography. Michelle is the author of Don't Ask Why from Seven Kitchens Press. Her microchapbook, Tissue Memory, is forthcoming from Porkbelly Press. You can find her work at www.michelleortegawrites.com and on IG @michellebelleslp.

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