Tamara Woods is this weeks Poet of Instagram! Yay! I have been following her on Instagram where she talks all about writing and life as a writer. You should check her socials and youtube out she's hilarious.
Tamara Woods was raised (fairly happily) in West Virginia, where she began writing poetry at the age of 12. She published her first poetry collection, The Shaping of an “Angry” Black Woman in 2014 and is working on her first fiction novel. She works as a full-time freelance writer and posts poetry, short stories and indie author interviews on her blog PenPaperPad. She is a hillbilly hermit in Honolulu living with her Mathemagician.
Please tell us a little about yourself.
I’m a West Virginia native living in Hawaii with my Mathmagician. I work as a full-time freelance writer. I generally write nonfiction items during the day and my fiction and poetry at night.
When did you start creating poetry? Tell us a little about your journey.
I started writing poetry in the sixth grade- a boy broke my heart. Since then I’ve always used poetry as a way to funnel information, to work out my emotions. To think out loud.
How would you describe your poetry?
What inspires your poetry?
Anything in my day to day life. From a news report to the weather. It can all be a trigger for a poem.
What is the process you take to write your poetry?
I try not to force poetry. I let it come as it may. I do so much other writing that’s under deadline or has specific guidelines for it that it’s freeing to be able to let something just flow.
Why did you start your Instagram account?
I like connecting with other writers and readers. People compose such interesting posts with their books and their words. I wanted to be a part of that.
Why is sharing your poetry special to you?
It’s like sharing a piece of myself that I don’t talk about a lot or share often.
What do you want people to take from your poetry?
I want them to feel something, but I don’t get to dictate what that something is. That’s the thing with creating any type of art. My artistic intention doesn’t necessarily crossover to the reader. Everyone brings their life’s experiences to the work.
What are the top three favourite poems you have written and why?
I can’t answer that. I have no idea. The poem that I miss the most is one that I wrote after the Mike Brown shooting. I unfortunately can’t find it. I’ve been looking for months and I can’t even remember how it went. I just know that it broke my heart to write.
Would you ever publish your poems?
I have a collection of poetry that I published last year, “The Shaping of an ‘Angry’ Black Woman” and I have a few poems in The Reverie Journal Volume One collection that came out in the beginning of October.
What plans do you have for the future in terms of your poetry?
I plan to keep writing and to write more on topical subjects of the moment. I have some ideas for an upcoming collection.
Thank you so much for doing this interview with me! I am so happy to learn more about your works and you. If you want to follow Tamara on her writing journey her social accounts are:
- PenPaperPad (blog): http://penpaperpad.com
- The Reverie Journal: http://thereveriejournal.com (poetry journal)
- Twitter: http://twitter.com/penpaperpad
- Facebook: http://facebook.com/TamaraWoodstheWriter
- Google Plus: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+TamaraWoods/posts
- YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/pimptwoo/videos
- GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8105505.Tamara_Woods
He slowly straightens,
bag filled with empty cans,
left by careless passerby and tourists.
This was his spot.
He’d counted each grain of sand,
Had been humbled by those waves
On more occasions than he could remember.
He’d been coming to this beach
before Hawaii 5.0
or Magnum P.I.
or when the buildings started blocking the sunrise.
And he took care.
This was his ‘aina.
Where he dove for tako
Where the ancestors had walked the land and
he’d taught his children how to live
with respect and care.
What they did rippled through life
like waves through the ocean,
He looked around at his place,
checking for cigarette butts
He nodded in satisfaction and shuffled home.
ResignedTheir hands, separated by sea
a distance so fantastic as to
consume them with the numbers.
Stranded on separate islands
where no magic wands nor fairly tales
could release them from their
Finger tips tapped Morse
desperate to find love’s code
in a few beats.
Exhaustion has set
after years of whimpered silence
callused fingertips beg for
They resign to their solitude
sending up smoke signals
I soared, tasting freedom. Wings expanding behind me. Feathers
soft, kissing my face with love.
Blue skies. Cloudless. Naked trees shaking in the wind.
In the old neighborhood. Fallen leaves covered
unkempt lawns. Strangely silent. Empty porch swings.
Bikes abandoned in ditches. Autumn sharp in my face. Was ready
to go further. To become something
more than this space. Where the street crater holes
leave broken axles in their wake. I brace myself to go where
I needed to be.
I felt the change in the air first. Ripping through my breezy pants, I stagger.
Autumn small slaps me in the face. Quickening cold, burns my nose.
Clouds hanging low and dark staring down
Heart starts racing
something was on its way.