Author Robert Stubblefield started writing around the age of ten. As a matter of fact, he began composing poems at the time as a way to cope with the loss of his grandmother. Speaking exclusively to The Literary Juggernaut, the twenty-eight-year-old American author and poet, who is currently residing in Maryland, the US, says poetry has always helped him express his feelings towards the world around him. Emphasising that he usually writes when he has the urge to pen down his thoughts and whenever he feels low, Mr Stubblefield, who holds a bachelor’s degree besides two master’s degrees, says he composes poetry so he may articulate the deepest of his thoughts in ways he cannot do when he happens to be speaking.
Stavyah Vatsarah is the nom de plume of an Indian poet, storyteller, and former journalist. He is the founding editor-in-chief of The Literary Juggernaut and dwells in Delhi, India.
I suggest you now grasp that heart’s core
Is illumed by none but God; thought ain’t vain.
Same is force that guides the worlds galore,
One birthed by a chaste woman. Prized lore!
But I suppose there is no fun
In leading what you’re leading – gruesome life;
You think not of superb acts dropped
Before you say the thoughts that stay well popped
Until slain is the mental strife!
And goodness goes on to stand sadly done.
Lambasted love couldn’t even minds
That shall float now, forever,
Be born again to be dead, gone.
That is life’s nature; it quite binds,
Creating love in ways clever
In order that worlds may move on.
Could you will to enquire where we are caught,
And why the ball of fire has not touched us?
Give it some time, give what’s been said a thought
Before you put your questions, making fuss.
Author T C Weber is a morning person, and he begins his day with what he loves doing most: writing. In an exclusive email interaction with The Literary Juggernaut, Mr Weber, who is a member of Poets & Writers and the Maryland Writers Association, says when working on a novel, his goal is to write one scene each day, schedule permitting. ‘I ensure that I write something every morning, even if it’s just random thoughts or a few paragraphs. Long scenes may take several days,’ explains the author, who also knows to speak Spanish besides a bit of Russian and Japanese.
The stars greatly glowed when the night was young,
And the moonlight gleamed, glistened upon seas;
It looked as if the stars were lights well strung
By men who would prize nothing but calm, peace.
Pretentious men sat, watched the harm,
Recalling to word their dead thought;
Observed was chaos; there was no calm!
Farm laws were blamed and farmers bought.
Pandemic plagiarised plagiarised plagues
Plagued pure places, preyed ‘pon poor people
Plotted, planned, plunged persistently
Placed plain pain, pessimism, pricks
Pained planet proudly
The morning did beam when the sunlight flared,
Awakening worlds then asleep in men;
It made them alight from their homely den
While raging winds clavered, determined, dared.
What gives us pure pleasure is after all loving those who do abhor us;
So you and sure I shall esteem those who hate us but not once defeat, trim
The strength we’ve attained hitherto by just being loved by those we’d hate, cuss.
Oh, he reigned in the field, fooling those watching him,
And he feigned innocence, made us believe his lies.
Hence, worlds that exist in our very small vision
Are just lies mirroring truth;
But what the true truth does is work illusion
Thus causing pain, agony, and ruth.
Each who has wronged me does deserve to be abhorred.
And so, not once will I ever want to think that
No one’s my foe and that world’s friendly, lovely, great.
For I’m quite strongly of this sound opinion that
There’s no mates in the real world that we dwell in.
Let each thought causing you harm now cease; strong and brave you shall be!
Not brooding on what’s past does sound wise; exactly what we feel.
The acts you do are not done by you; there’s forces you hardly see.
Fruit, therefore, you’ll not seek even once; let’s just term all this deal!
Askew went the planning
Because of our notions,
Caused lots of lamenting
Did soil our emotions;
Edged then were our portions
Facetious was fought fight,
Gone feelings then lotions
Helped both to become light.
I saw thy awed eyes loudly doubting me
Isled, raw thy flawed sighs howled, in silence yelled
Eyed flawed, awful lies ruining me, thee
Thy augured thoughts then soundly themselves quelled.
You tell me you know best,
That there’s none that can best you;
Shall I put you to test
So I could find out what’s true?
There are days when I oft rue
The friendship we did share
When does come a blazing loo
That tells me you don’t care.