Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Guest Post by Sara Bulla

Today's guest is Sara Bulla. I love that she says she used the pen name, Cordeilia Blythe for years - a true Anne of Green Gables girl! She is currently working on revisions on her first novel, a YA Urban Fantasy called The Take Back, as well as several children's books. You can find her at the blog Live to Write...Edit when Necessary. Thanks, Sara, for sharing this touching piece - I don't read enough poetry!


A special thanks to Jenna who opened up her blog to a few of us. I first became acquainted with Jenna and her writing during the Wrap it Up blog hop. I was impressed with her then and continue to follow her blog.

Though I write very little poetry anymore, I am thankful for all the classes I took on it. I remember catching phrases like this: “Show don’t Tell” or “Less is More”. I find that this rings true for novel writing as well. Saying less usually does mean more and Showing is always better than telling.

May I share a poem that knocked my socks off? It’s called Power and it illustrates beautifully exactly what my Poetry teacher tried to hammer into us all those years ago.


No one we knew had ever stopped a train.

Hardly daring to breathe, I waited

Belly down with my brother

In a dry ditch

Watching through the green thickness

Of grass and willows.

Stuffed with crumpled newspapers,

The shirt and pants looked real enough

Stretched out across the rails. I felt my heart

Beating against the cool ground,

And the terrible long screech of the train’s

Breaking began. We had done it.

Then it was in front of us,

A hundred iron wheels tearing like time

Into red flannel and denim, shredding the child

We had made, until it finally stopped.

My brother jabbed at me,

Pointed down the tracks. A man

Had Climbed out of the engine, was running

In our direction, waving his arms,

Screaming that he would kill us

Whoever we were.

Then, very close to the spot

Where we hid, he stomped and cursed

As the rags and papers scattered

Over the gravel from our joke.

I tried to remember which of us

That red shirt had belonged to,

But morning seemed too long ago, and the man

Was falling, sobbing, to his knees.

I couldn’t stop watching,

My brother lay next to me,

His hands covering his ears,

His face pressed tight to the ground.

Corrine Hales

I remember how wowed I was at this poem when I first read it. And the title being, Power, only adds to
the overall impression this poem had on me.

Thank you again Jenna for letting me share!


  1. I was going to say 'wow' but Jenna already said that.

    So I'll say 'beautiful'. And Powerful. Very, very neat.

    I don't read enough poetry either.