Why Living Words?

                I thought it might be interesting to address why my publishing house is called Living Words Press, so that is what this post will focus on.  The name is fairly self-explanatory, Living Words Press.  The key here is the “living words” part.  I have a great love for writing and the creation behind interesting works of literature.  Most of the inspiration for my style comes from poetry, because that is where my writing background is. 

                A poem is a very strange thing.  It can have a strict format with rules guiding how every word is used, but it can also be open in form allowing for unstructured expression.  However, even in free verse, the writer inserts tone and style to create a distinct flow that provides unity to the entire piece.  Everything about a poem is important in obtaining the desired effect on the reader.  Its shape tells one a variety of things.  If the lines are short and jagged, the poet could be trying to convey scattered or intense emotion.  When the lines are of varying lengths that seem to wander on the page the story wanders through the readers mind.  Punctuation can add to the poems effect either by being plentiful or by being absent from the work.  The sounds of the words themselves play a vital role in pulling the reader into the poem.

                There are an infinite number of poems that are and can be written, and yet each poem uses words that have been used many times before.  How do works of poetry continue to maintain uniqueness in an ever writing world?  This is the question that caused me to see that words have very lifelike qualities.  Words do not stay the same as they are passed from one generation to the next; they change and forge new meanings in every mind they enter into.  We all put our own spin on the words we use, and although the words themselves are defined the same way for everyone, each person understands them in a slightly different way than the next.  This is how I came to think of words as living things.  They grow, change, and adapt to every environment and culture.  If you take the time to consider the amazing magic that words create, I have no doubt you will agree that living words are all around us.

                I think the best way to illustrate my point is to post one of my poems that uses different techniques to create an image in the mind’s eye.

 

Wandering

No beginning,

Nor end,

The breeze wanders over the countless miles,

Leaving its mark everywhere it passes.

The beach sands scatter and twirl,

And the smell off the water pushes inland;

Salt in the air gets caught on the grass.

 

As the breeze sweeps through the hills.

Wildflowers sway and grasslands shiver,

The plains end and the trees grow tall,

Every leaf waves, sending ripples through the foliage,

An ocean of green jerks and trembles,

A strange, ceaseless motion.

 

Mountains tower into the sky above,

The breeze careens up the slopes hugging the rocks and losing speed;

Colder as it climbs,

Slower still;

Crawling over the tip it brushes the snow,

Flakes fly into the air and spiral down.

 

No resistance, faster now,

Dodging boulders and pines,

Gaining speed,

Shrubs tremble, trees sway.

 

The mountain ends but the lake begins,

Still water bows in under the force of the fall,

The breeze presses down still moving forward,

Water lifts and then falls again repeating,

Ripples fan across the lake distorting the surface.

 

The woods again, winding through the trunks;

Then everything is gone,

Ground drops away and the breeze floats,

Far below the hills stretch on and on,

Green to the horizon,

And the breeze drifts free.

 

Far away there is a flash,

Sun glinting off a surface near the ground;

Slowly, lightly the breeze descends,

Tall obstacles pop up into the air,

They are strange, too straight, too narrow,

 

One right in the way with no time to redirect,

Sharp, solid corners scrape and send the breeze away battered.

 

Loud sounds vibrate in the air,

Thick rolling smog chokes the sky,

Pushed back and forth,

Then the city ends and the breeze races away.

 

Sometime later the breeze slows and drifts back to the earth,

The fear has been left behind;

The grass is soft and bends with each pass,

Peace and silence,

The breeze moves lazily back and forth,

In the distance the sun is setting in a bright pink sky.

 

The breeze wanders on,

To find the sea again.

 

 

                Did you like this poem?  Don’t forget to check out my published works on Amazon.com or through the link on the side of this blog.  If you have questions dealing with writing or publishing that you would like me to address on this blog, leave a comment below or email your question to livingwordspress@gmail.com.