HEATHER SULLIVAN
HEATHER SULLIVAN is an active member of Ocean State Poets, a group whose mission is to give voice to Rhode Islanders by conducting workshops in prisons, nursing and group homes, addiction recovery centers and alternative learning environments. Sullivan is the editor of two poetry chapbooks, Butterfly Wings and Poems on Branches, published by Salve Regina University, featuring the works of 75 individuals.
In 2007, Heather was appointed Assistant Creative Director of the Rhode Island Writers’ Circle, where she volunteered until 2010. In 2007, Sullivan served as a panel judge for Barnes and Noble’s State-wide Maya Angelou High School Poetry Contest. Heather holds an M.A. in English and won First Place in Writers’ Digest’s 1999 Competition in memoir / personal essay category.
Sullivan’s work has appeared in Tiferet: A Journal of Spiritual Literature; Balancing the Tides: A Newport Journal; The Writers’ Circle’s 2008 & 2010 Anthologies; Newport Round Table’s Walls and Bridges Anthology; The Providence Journal; Newport Life Magazine; The Newport Daily News and She Shines Magazine. Her essay Compassion aired on Rhode Island’s National Public Radio’s This I Believe series, and she has recorded her poetry for Insight Radio for the visually impaired.
Heather's website is http://www.poetheathersullivan.com
In 2007, Heather was appointed Assistant Creative Director of the Rhode Island Writers’ Circle, where she volunteered until 2010. In 2007, Sullivan served as a panel judge for Barnes and Noble’s State-wide Maya Angelou High School Poetry Contest. Heather holds an M.A. in English and won First Place in Writers’ Digest’s 1999 Competition in memoir / personal essay category.
Sullivan’s work has appeared in Tiferet: A Journal of Spiritual Literature; Balancing the Tides: A Newport Journal; The Writers’ Circle’s 2008 & 2010 Anthologies; Newport Round Table’s Walls and Bridges Anthology; The Providence Journal; Newport Life Magazine; The Newport Daily News and She Shines Magazine. Her essay Compassion aired on Rhode Island’s National Public Radio’s This I Believe series, and she has recorded her poetry for Insight Radio for the visually impaired.
Heather's website is http://www.poetheathersullivan.com
Conversation with a Poem
Are you a sonnet?
Well,
A villanelle?
It is too soon to tell.
Are you going to rhyme?
Not this time.
How about some quick advice: should I enjamb
this line?
Only when I pull your pen
that way; otherwise, I suggest you stay, follow my trail of song along...
Here: a stanza break
or should I alliterate?
No, not now.
Poem, you confuse me.
I’m not sure how.
Dear poet, listen!
I am speaking through the door.
Notice: I am milk pooled on the floor.
I search for you
in shape and form,
Let words
give birth to me.
but then you slip like silk
behind some metaphor.
That’s a simile, actually.
True.
Trust
What?
Hush
~Heather Sullivan
Are you a sonnet?
Well,
A villanelle?
It is too soon to tell.
Are you going to rhyme?
Not this time.
How about some quick advice: should I enjamb
this line?
Only when I pull your pen
that way; otherwise, I suggest you stay, follow my trail of song along...
Here: a stanza break
or should I alliterate?
No, not now.
Poem, you confuse me.
I’m not sure how.
Dear poet, listen!
I am speaking through the door.
Notice: I am milk pooled on the floor.
I search for you
in shape and form,
Let words
give birth to me.
but then you slip like silk
behind some metaphor.
That’s a simile, actually.
True.
Trust
What?
Hush
~Heather Sullivan
Perennial
The irises keep blooming here on time.
Again this June, again green stems emerge.
Skyward they grow, their stalks do not entwine:
stark clarity of purpose, worlds converge.
Sweet purple shoots asleep in bud cocoons
wake up, burst forth their stars of violet grace
to pierce the blue with petals gone too soon
to understand the workings of this place.
But, oh they speak with yellow tongues of hope
to those who roam the amber cave of loss:
they stencil golden paths ‘cross garden stone
and hold their heads above the dew-cleansed moss.
Though blossoms close, dry bulbs still choose rebirth
and curl immortal in soft wombs of earth.
~Heather Sullivan
The irises keep blooming here on time.
Again this June, again green stems emerge.
Skyward they grow, their stalks do not entwine:
stark clarity of purpose, worlds converge.
Sweet purple shoots asleep in bud cocoons
wake up, burst forth their stars of violet grace
to pierce the blue with petals gone too soon
to understand the workings of this place.
But, oh they speak with yellow tongues of hope
to those who roam the amber cave of loss:
they stencil golden paths ‘cross garden stone
and hold their heads above the dew-cleansed moss.
Though blossoms close, dry bulbs still choose rebirth
and curl immortal in soft wombs of earth.
~Heather Sullivan