Callisse J. DeTerre
Biography of Callisse J. DeTerre
I was awarded a college scholarship for writing and won top honors for poetry contests in high school and college. Until this year,2010, I have not since shared my writing publicly. My first poem was published in a school newsletter at age 7. Around age 13, I started to journal in the form of poetry on a fairly regular basis. Years later, the thematic ebb and flow of my writing helped me to see the cyclical nature of my severe depression and ultimately combined with other facts to lead to the proper diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. As cooperating with treatment allows me to keep a more even keel of functioning and prevents the intrusive suicidal thoughts that once plagued me, I have no fear that treatment stifles my creativity.
I enjoy all manners of written expression, but am least skilled in journalism. I lack the ability to mentally prioritize and filter information. Everything seems important. I have trouble getting to the point. In general, I've been told that I often lack the ability to adjust the complexity of my language to the intended audience. I tend to be obsessive about scholarly writing, but less so otherwise. Even if I rework a poem a hundred times, I like the relative brevity of poetry because I'm impatient. I want to finish something, even if, as I said, I go onto revise it. I rarely create song lyrics from my poetry, but often am inspired in one fell swoop with words and music. Unfortunately, scribing one measure takes me an hour. So I write down the words and sing to myself from time to time. As they are hymns usually, I trust God will see a way for them to reach a broader audience if it's part of the Plan. As for writing in general, it is my own fear of rejection by 'pedestaled' editors and my lack of discipline which have primarily held me back. Here's to baby steps!
Callisse J. DeTerre Poems
To What Degree Of Mania
Driving past a six-car pile-up, I see more Beautiful colors intertwined, the music of sirens and horns harmonized To what should I attribute this latest masterpiece?
On One Thief I Wait
[reflecting on Psalm 49: 4-9, Matt 24: 37-44...*] Why should I tremble as darkness falls, when thieves of worldly riches strike?
Succumb To The Spring
Being a victim who survived is red like a bleeding willow tree and black as a back road winter's night 'cause that was me, but I'm healing to a sunny orange and sky blue, warm summertime shades of mother-hugs in rocking chairs,
I've heard it called 'spend'. Clueless, Who paid the price, I ask? Our fourth grade club, all girls, talking about sex and how babies are born...
In A Worry
(*dedicated to Ursula K. LeGuin*) If you squeeze me long enough here, it'll go squirming its way back in
My memories are blue jeans, faded and fraying in the stomach line where I've bent so many times to be ill
Quacknammering fools sitting on the spout like vultures on the scout watching for the wasted
I wish I had my mind in the body of a bird contemplating my existence riding on the winds of change, currents of energy from pyramid points in the time
Now She Understood Her
She wanted healing for them both. Just once uttered pain subtly controlled. Rarely feeling safe to want or need, rejecting what hurt to think or believe.
I see how it surfaced - her festering desire to control, her oozing need to live in dreams and to deceive.
I Could Not Say, I Love You
My Very Dear Friend, I don't know what to say, but I must say it My Self is restless with words so I will listen,
On One Thief I Wait
[reflecting on Psalm 49: 4-9, Matt 24: 37-44...*]
Why should I tremble as darkness falls,
when thieves of worldly riches strike?
That I should be unburdened would be a blessing
for they cannot take my Light.
But I dare not slumber as night draws near
For on One Thief I wait with hope
that I might be a treasure worth retrieving