2020's Expectancy
I’ve taken a brief hiatus from publishing and reviewing poetry submissions the past…
I’ve taken a brief hiatus from publishing and reviewing poetry submissions the past couple of months and will continue through the end of the year. Life has hit hard. It’s been beautiful, incredible, and terrible. Present moment has been encompassing, requiring all of my intentional attention. I wanted to add a note here and share some recent updates, where we’re at, what’s to come.
Recent updates:
Ricky and I purchased a home! We moved in two weeks ago to our dream space. The house itself has a backdrop of a natural preserve; these tall trees with slender trunks make my heart so full. We’re both over the moon to be where we live, in the little town of Pataskala, Ohio.
I had a car accident that swept me off my feet - a deer ran into my car as I was driving home one evening. It took me a while to get back to a steady state without migraines, dizziness, constant mood swings. I’m all better now (thank the Lord), but it really threw a wrench into my mental stability and creativity.
Throughout the month of October, I really struggled with my writing. I’ve shared a bit of this on my Instagram, but I felt bursting with sensory overload, and had a hard time translating the mess in my mind to paper. I’m still working through this, but the promise and expectancy I’m holding for the new year is giving me a refreshed sense of alacrity.
In September, Introspective Collective had a giveaway, consisting of 100 copies of Morning Air, Morning Light. The purpose behind the giveaway was to share the physical copy with those that may not have had financial means to obtain the book; sharing it without limitation. We reached the 100 copy within the first few weeks; it was the best way to commemorate the book’s one year birthday.
Where we’re at:
More than ever, I’m fully in love with art. When Ricky and I visited Rome and Barcelona last month, it evoked a sense of romance–romance for my current moment, for my husband, for the art of poetry.
I’ve been traveling for my day job more than ever and I have a love/hate relationship with it. I miss my husband dearly when I’m away, but love the sacred moments (even as I type this, I’m a visitor in my former home city, Nashville) where I’m able to selfishly write, read, and converse with others. I’m able to fill up my introversion wells, spending evenings quietly alone.
I’m feeling bolder than ever - writing without reservation. While I haven't been writing a lot the past several weeks, I feel a shift in my confidence in sharing what I create. I feel a full excitement for what others are creating, too. We’ve recently opened up poetry submissions again for the new year. Submit here! Would love to read your work.
I’ll be a featured poet at the Secret Midnight Press, Poetry Night event happening in Columbus, Ohio on 12/20. This is also an open mic event, so if you’re local to the area, come read or soak in some sweet, honest poetry. I’m so excited to share some new pieces and to meet new faces.
Where we’re going:
I just finished the 2020 planning for all the hopes and dreams I desire Introspective Collective to grow into. I’ve identified areas where I want to grow in my craft, how I can share it with you, and how I can serve you better, dear reader.
Raine Publishing and Introspective Collective are brewing up exciting dreams of printed submissions from artists around the word. I will share more updates as they come about.
Strides towards another book are weighing heavy in my heart, in the best way possible. I can’t wait to write and illustrate until another printed artwork is born. It’s a long road, but I’m thankful to be able to hold this dream in my heart until it’s held in my hands.
If you’re interested in keeping a pulse with the new poetry and updates from this site, you can subscribe here. I also have a poetry Facebook and personal Instagram page if you’re drawn to follow those instead or as well.
On behalf of Introspective Collective: myself, all of our guest authors, and contributors, we thank you for offering your time to read through this scroll of text. My heart swells with gratitude because of your gracious support, and the time you share with us.
Portrait photo by the incredible Carly from Authentic Narrative.
The Brevity of Oneness
I’ve been thinking a lot about the connection, and disconnection of our bodies and spirits…
I’ve been thinking a lot about the connection, and disconnection of our bodies and spirits. This poem further explores this thought; writing this poem really expanded my mind past the bounds of societal constraints on human anatomy, and into the realm of spiritual curiosity in relation to my earth-standing self.
The Brevity of Oneness
by Regan Smith
• • •
I know that my soul is separate
from my body,
for there are times where my body continues
to move, continues to breathe
but my soul is three steps removed,
overlooking this body
from a bird’s eye view.
It controls this drone of
legs and arms and eyes
moving it’s gaze from
left to right,
to smile at a stranger,
and the footing’s next step
but my feelings are
locked and sprouted within this soul,
detached
from the bones and muscles.
I wonder if my body
and soul will every marry,
for they’ve been separate for
quite some time,
allowing the brevity of oneness,
for the duration of a dance,
for my mother’s embrace,
for the exhilarating
jump from plane high–
temporarily united
as we soar through air,
falling through clouds,
occupying the space
that’s only meant for
the amakihi,
the white-tailed tropicbird,
the golden plover.
My body gets bathed,
but my soul can still hold shame.
My spirit can be filled,
and overflowing,
yet the peach figure I see,
is in languish with night
still ringing around her eyes.
And I know that my body,
will fall to the earth,
decompose and wrap itself with
the roots,
but my soul will soar,
for it has shed its weight,
and reunited with the
totality of eternity.
Photography by Farrah Emami.
a list for the moon
Raine has recently reached motherhood, alongside the growing baby and her belly…
Raine has recently reached motherhood, alongside the growing baby and her belly, her writing has become more refined. ‘a list for the moon’ is in my top three poems sweet Cheyenne has written.
This poem really pulls at my senses; it gives me comfort. It takes me out of my mind and connecting with the moon–connecting with the night sky.
a list for the moon
by Cheyenne Raine
• • •
a list of times i have fallen in love with the moon:
- before the sun climbs into the sky, and a sliver
of lavender lays against the horizon,
the moon still grey as ever.
- when the harvest comes
and yellow tints the moon,
autumn brushing through the leaves.
- driving through my neighborhood
at three in the morning, peeking up
at the almost full moon,
wondering why the night couldn’t last
just a little longer.
- watching a storm off in the distance
the moon unfazed
the city receiving lightning
the sea calm and untouched.
- the moon’s reflection in the water,
milky crests finding their way
back into dark shades of blue.
- scribbling words under porch lights
and talking to the moon
when i couldn’t find the words.
- snapping a photo for a friend,
because their sky was cloudy
but mine was clear,
and the moon is always
such a lovely sight.
Cheyenne Raine is a contributing author to Introspective Collective; illustration by Regan Smith.
End Still
I wrote this poem late last year, during a time where the hurt from family health issues…
I wrote this poem late last year, during a time where the hurt from family health issues weighed heavy on my heart. It was birthed out of the need to process, pen to paper, the hurt but recognizing that beauty still survives and thrives around us. That sometimes the best healing is staying in stillness. The photo that Farrah paired together brought me to tears. It reminded me of this once again - that everything is temporary, but the bird’s song still sings.
End Still
By Regan Smith
• • •
The fall birds congregate in the trees,
greatly outnumbering the barely-shaken leaves.
Their rainstick roar
reminds me that everything is temporary,
nothing is fixed—
and that observing holds a special freedom.
The air is so beautiful here.
Stay still, saturate,
and hear their song.
Photography by Farrah Emami.
That Consistent Question
Writing without rules or constraints from even punctuation, this way of…
Writing without rules or constraints from even punctuation, this way of the pen offers a clear channel from mind to paper, without any hinderances. This stream of consciousness uncovers my vocation.
That Consistent Question
By Regan Smith
• • •
I pose the question that I’ve asked my mirror reflection for the past decade am I happy with what I have become when I was sixteen I whispered in the night that I wouldn’t make my twenty-first birthday due to the death of my own hand whether that was an overdose of substance or overdose of the absence of food or the overdose of dark thoughts causing my own undoing but I am standing here strong and tall learning each day to love the bones and body I was born into knowing that I was created for a purpose with this moment held sacred and close to my heart and I can say with confidence that I’m happy with what I have become a life alive with breathing lungs that lose breath from laughter with arms that hold those I love and a voice that declares freedom and breakthrough and words that I can share with another sixteen year old girl that whispers to herself in the night
Scarf of a Lady
Poetry is storytelling; it is capturing a moment in script. This poem by Bobbi Sinha…
Poetry is storytelling; it is capturing a moment in script. This poem by Bobbi Sinha-Morey holds both of these traits, tugging us to remember the ordinary. To relish what may be a simple encounter or act within our day. Alike Mary Oliver’s writings, a seemingly mundane moment captured in text can give a whole new appreciation, sparking a revelation in how we recognize the daily magic that unfolds around us.
We couldn’t be more honored to introduce Bobbi as not only our newest guest author, but as a Contributor to the Introspective Collective website. I pray her words hold a resonating warmth, as they did with me.
Scarf of a Lady
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey
• • •
One morning I saw a lady's
scarf caught in a plum tree
waving to me, the growing
blueness of dawn reflected
on its cotton white surface,
and I recognized its cursive
emblem, a tea rose so carefully
sewn and I wondered how long
my neighbor Anna knew it had
been missing, if at all, before
it had been gone. She, a pretty
woman in her sixties who
always lit up whenever she
saw me, often brought over
soothing plum cherries in the
summer. And when I thought
of her and the light clothes
she wore, I remembered she
loved airy scarves in the spring.
This one I'd found must've
been wind-borne before being
snared on the limb of a tree,
a joyous flight all its own,
and it was so feathery when
I touched it to my skin.
I returned it to her that day
and she happily weighed
it in her hand.
