Tag Archives: writing about love

Our Time: How We Celebrate Love

John and I on a short vacation to the Smokey Mountains in July 2012.

Love is one of the hardest subjects.

How do you approach love without composing corny clichés?

What can you write to make your story real?

Sometimes pieces and parts of your relationship(s) sneak into your writing.

When J.R.R. Tolkien wrote the back story of Arwen and Aragorn, he was inspired by the times when his wife would dance in the forest for him.

Moments or little things are what create good details. When I write, John—my husband—is not the character. He might not share anything in common with him or her, but he inspires small parts of my writing and poetry.

John and I celebrated our wedding anniversary this week, and our four-year anniversary, as a couple, this month. I would like to share snippets of work he has inspired.

  • Winter Poem, (written winter 2009)

How long the nights stretch over the days
like a ship attempts to span the sea.
They are as distant as you from me.

I crawl into my dreams
and across the dessert
where you take me.

I wake to a ceiling fan
and find my love is
still not where I am.

Each moment with you
is spun in gold threads.
Only I hide them
in darkened rooms
of my mind.

  • The Tale of Ambrose and Addy (from the Sons of the Edisto back stories)

“I have paid for every dress you’ve ever worn, all the food and drink you’ve consumed, everything … Now you will see this, this good-for-nothing farmer without my approval,” he (Rolland Collier) said, continuing his yelling.  

Addy (Collier) thanked Rolland for all he had done for her over the years, but said she    would marry a man of her own choice. She told him she wanted for all of her family to be a part of her happiness.

“If you thought anything of your family, you would not be going against my wishes,” Rolland said.

He gave her two choices: Addy would either listen and never see Ambrose (Wilkins) again, or she would have to leave his home, leaving behind everything he had ever bought for her save two dresses. She chose the later as she knew her Ambrose had every intention of proposing. Never had she been so bold to her uncle in her life. Even Rose (cousin) was taken aback.

“Get your things, and get out of my house,” Rolland said.

He stormed from his house. His wife wrapped her arms around Addy. Although she was never much for words – perhaps the perfect wife for Rolland— she had always proved understanding. After all, she had helped Addy plant her little garden. But those roses, as much as she adored them, didn’t seem to matter as much as her love. Her great love; the love people want to believe ends wars, but in reality it starts them.

I have written many parts, portions, phrases and a story inspired by John. Ambrose and Addy, which is not written in the same way as my other texts since it is a back story, was written for John.

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

© 2006-2012 by Rebecca T. Dickinson/ R.T. Dickinson. All rights reserved. No part of this blog, Sons of the Edisto or material related to it may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of R.T. Dickinson.

A Blue Ridge Tale

Today is my birthday. One of the greatest gifts in my life is my husband. We’ve been through a lot together, but I am a hopeless romantic and always believed in that knock-you-off-your-feet feeling.

I began writing poems from the very moment I realized he was special and important. I have kept all the poems in a small manuscript entitled Love, Marriage and the Baby Carriage. One poem from the collection I posted previously Chalk Art. This one I wrote inspired by our journeys to the mountains.


Photo by Rebecca T. Dickinson, Sept. 2009

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

Oh, my soul,

Where do you go,

When fervors are high

and spirits low?

It left

as quick as a storm

sweeping through

an empty night.

To the mountains

and in the skies

there does

my spirit lie

With him, my love,

I climb

Far above

The cities and lights.

My soul is sold,

Like a boy

Who

Long ago

Dealed the devil –

And dealed him well –

Gave him his soul

So his corn would grow.

The devil left hell

To make his claim

At the time

The boy’s life

Was said to end.

But He was tricked,

And tricked good.

The devil wondered

For miles and miles

Only to find

The boy was gone.

In those mountains,

The boy did climb

Higher and higher

Into the mists

Where he aspired

To watch the rivers

Become smaller.

The Blue Ridge

Showed mercy

Giving him back

His soul,

So long

As he

Would never leave.

He shook the limbs

Of the trees

And said,

“Here I will stay

And never leave.”

It was then

The waters came

Storming down;

Washing away

All the things

Threatening to take

The boy away.

Men’s voices echo

Through the years

Of lost love,

Trials and tears.

Their lives gone,

But Legend recalls

They are reason

Mountains

Exist at all.

We sail,

My love and I,

On a mountain,

Through mists,

And the skies

Far from

Those who

Try to break

The love

We create.

People often

Turn old

Before their time.

They say mountains

Are ancient

With old beasts,

But it is there

Passions run wild

Like two youths

With a hunger

To run on the loose.


Photo by Rebecca T. Dickinson

© 2010-2012 by R.T. Dickinson. All rights reserved. No part of this manuscript or material related to it may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of R.T. Dickinson.


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