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april poetry challenge, poem, Poet, Poetry, poetry prompts, velveteen rabbit, writers, Writing, writing prompts
“‘It doesn’t happen all at once…You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit
I couldn’t help but share this excerpt that was shared with me today in my Yin Yoga class. For our class purposes, this was used as a meditation on acceptance. Here, on the Billow, for our purposes, I want to think about the Veleveteen Rabbit and his friend the horse who said this.
For today’s poem, write a dramatic monologue in the persona of an inanimate object. To stay true to the theme, give voice to one of your old stuffed animals, dolls, trucks–any toy that meant something to you when you were a child, or at some other point in your life. Perhaps the voice will speak about something it has witnessed. Perhaps, like the horse, it will share its wisdom or philosophy of life.
If you’d rather, give voice to something else that doesn’t have one.
the poet's billow 
Reblogged this on the poet's billow and commented:
From a year ago today: Happy Poetry Month!!!
Hi, thanks again for liking my post:
https://bylineraza.com/2016/04/19/when-the-powder-flies/
Reblogged this on Musket and Magic and commented:
I must have been five or six when I read the Velveteen Rabbit. A gorgeously deep children’s book— words to live by even as an adult. If you follow me and don’t already follow the Billow, try it. You can learn some surprising things about yourself writing poetry.
I’m trying to remember when I first read this story. I must have been… four? Five? Read or read to, I can’t remember, maybe I was a precocious child.
I’m only black and white.
Not strong in stride,
I’ve never known pride,
Only love undebriding.
I was there for the castles,
I was there for the night’s hassle,
Of you trying to sleep, but secretly dreaming,
While all the world carried on snoring.
You used to talk to me, that sweet “pillow talk,”
Of course we never called it that then, mom’dve balked,
(And it would have been weird, like stalking)
But now you don’t. It’s like your mouth’s plugged with caulk.
You once told me of dragons and knights,
The brave and the meek, fighting through the night.
Or the maid and her lion, leading the other unto dawn’s crest.
I sleep now under a silent thrum, held against your chest,
A subject of your tight, nervous arm, the grind of broken teeth,
and the whine of a more broken heart, alone on the heath.
Now the night stories I hear are dark and cruel,
It’s not dragons and knights, but tyrants and traitors,
And the maid is held in chains, dragged on by twin masters.
Regret and pain, loneliness, covered in white plaster,
Undone in sleep, unraveled in dreams.
I loved you once and I love you still, warm against you,
Though now you never name me,
Only murmur incessant, shuddering in the cold.
I know my time has passed, for you seek others to love,
Others taller, others fairer, sweet like a dove.
You’ll find for yourself who to trust, and who needs a shove.
For it’s not just me that’s waiting patiently in bed,
But all childhood’s songs and hopes not dead,
Only dreaming inside your head.
-Rylie
What a rare and amazing share. Thank you.