I wrote my first poem when I was 6. Not that I was already a genius at such a tender age, though. But writing a poem for Mother’s Day with the possible outcome of winning a trip to Paris was something I could do. For a little French girl from a provincial town (you jog round  *hello Smiths fan*), the Eiffel Tower was the ultimate magical place you could only dream of seeing once in your lifetime (disclaimer: that was before I experienced actual life in Paris, and before Disney invaded Marne-la-Vallée).

Oh, I was one of the 5 winners. And my mum got a lovely heart pendant, gift from the City of Dijon. We don’t do only mustard over there, I told ya.

Fast forward to high school: I have to write a poem in French class. I’m so bored. And in true teenage fashion, all I can think about is how life sucks and I’m such a rebel.

I wrote my first poem in English yesterday. That WishBIG e-camp course is decidedly making me do strange things, you know.

I am not going to share that poem with you. Maybe because I feel the world is not ready for it and I don’t want this poem to strike you like a lightning  bolt. Or maybe because I forgot my notebook at home and I’m blogging from work. You choose.

Instead, I’ll share with you a poem that Liz Lamoreux, responsible for the writing of the above mentioned secret poem, shared with us campers at the beginning of the workshop. Why? Because it’s beautiful, there is no better reason.

Read it out loud. Do it.


Start close in, 
 don’t take the second step
 or the third, 
 start with the first
close in, 
 the step
 you don’t want to take.

Start with 
the ground 
you know, the pale ground 
beneath your feet, 
 your own
 way of starting
 the conversation.

Start with your own 
question, give up on other people’s questions, 
 don’t let them smother something

To find 
another’s voice, follow
 your own voice, 
 wait until
 that voice
 becomes a 
private ear 
to another.

Start right now
 take a small step
 you can call your own 
don’t follow
 someone else’s 
heroics, be humble 
and focused, start close in, don’t mistake that other 
for your own.

Start close in; don’t take the second step or the third, start with the first
 thing close in, the step you don’t want to take.



On the Way Home - yours truly (this I can share)


12 responses to “Inspire

  1. I want to ready your one!
    Im writing a poem for my mum for Mothers Day too funnily enough. Better than a bunch of flowers im sure 🙂

  2. not surprised at all that you were a young poet. 😉 xo.

  3. ooh cool poem. love it

  4. gorgeous poem. thanks for sharing

  5. Braco ! Poetry is a door into a secret garden; it gives you a different way of looking at the world and captures fleeting moments of emotion so well. I love David Whyte’s work – his poem “House of Belonging” featured in my wedding ceremony !

  6. great story, on the mark poem, nice photo & caption!

    your triple post was an experience in itself 😉 thanks!

  7. Pingback: Taking the Leap | Plans On A Comet

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