Quiet Sheba
Volume II
by
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A Quiet Sheba A Quiet Sheba is queenly, overindulgent, perhaps of golden cording, but bringing together bejeweled wrappings whose beauty houses eternal sweetness. it is as, in reflection, Penelope, ever descending the above, or ascending to the wideness of the always upward; Sheba, Quiet, is knowing within asking, or –as saying- yet, the prophet of Holy Scripture, who finds purest hurt from observation, and intuiting, hurt of most great power, she offers full wisdom, purporting that of wielding silence. Quiet Sheba is not overmuch careful of youthful passion, but burns with warm musings of the white, cold, alone – the figurative whale, her opponent mentor, in worded, degree. Sheba, She, of gentle boundlessness, is, foremore, metaphorical splendor, emptied of self, free to the fullest harvest in another, honest in exchanges, accepting of all that could not ever be sounded – and in this soliloquy, it of gracious, indescribable strength, acknowledgment wills, in the fin fragrance of the sound of knowing, the full, the without mark – self-giving, through self-understanding. Elizabeth March 18, 2015 Near two-thirty pm-
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About the Book
Ebbing and tiding comprise one of the strongest and objective, “real,” constructs that help to keep our lives in place, today, as certainly as ever, the despair, the dark, drifting into lighter spaces most often being my fare during the first, into the second portion of my period of greatest lamentations. However, time and intervening factors moderated much of the loss I perceived and wept into bitterly. Seasons, as does Volume II, keep their rhythms, similarly – the everyday routines of life, so that in likeso fashion, vocabulary and themes are akin to those first, but there is a slow progression to the outward, toward light, praise, and acknowledging. Memory, softly- gently plodding, if sometimes grievously, slowly became an anchor rather than a burden, and the nature of my illness allowed friends to support more readily. Still, the hours, days, and nights processed, wandered, waited, and mourned in silence, if less often; beauty remained my constant medicinal choice, as has ever meditations, through our paths of deepest, most realization- the journey is the mountaintop, step by step; it is a giving experience, which has not instance of occurring at, or all, most times, observant. And so the rose: volume II is a record of holding, that lost while reaching, desperately, “back” to where “I once was,” ironically walking into it each day. The entire process continuing, a daily self-actualization, to dress with a “sixties” expression. The words of this period describe grief, with hope, while not, consciously, benefiting from it; into loss with coming gratitude, and some suggestion of certainty began to enter, if that not of my choice. Semantics make possible the life of sentiment, and volume II of Quiet Sheba shows the emerging of this lovely, if serrated of this “truly,” “real” phenomenon. Ebbing and tiding comprise one of the strongest and objective, “real,” constructs that help to keep our lives in place, today, as certainly as ever, the despair, the dark, drifting into lighter spaces most often being my fare during the first, into the second portion of my period of greatest lamentations. However, time and intervening factors moderated much of the loss I perceived and wept into bitterly. Seasons, as does Volume II, keep their rhythms, similarly – the everyday routines of life, so that in likeso fashion, vocabulary and themes are akin to those first, but there is a slow progression to the outward, toward light, praise, and acknowledging. Memory, softly- gently plodding, if sometimes grievously, slowly became an anchor rather than a burden, and the nature of my illness allowed friends to support more readily. Still, the hours, days, and nights processed, wandered, waited, and mourned in silence, if less often; beauty remained my constant medicinal choice, as has ever meditations, through our paths of deepest, most realization- the journey is the mountaintop, step by step; it is a giving experience, which has not instance of occurring at, or all, most times, observant. And so the rose: volume II is a record of holding, that lost while reaching, desperately, “back” to where “I once was,” ironically walking into it each day. The entire process continuing, a daily self-actualization, to dress with a “sixties” expression. The words of this period describe grief, with hope, while not, consciously, benefiting from it; into loss with coming gratitude, and some suggestion of certainty began to enter, if that not of my choice. Semantics make possible the life of sentiment, and volume II of Quiet Sheba shows the emerging of this lovely, if serrated of this “truly,” “real” phenomenon.
About the Author
Elizabeth Clayton began teaching at the age of twenty at the University of Southern Mississippi. Presently retired, she is spending her days reviewing and preparing her works for publication. Clayton has published ten to thirteen works (primarily poetry) since the release of her autobiography in 2007, which chronicles her struggles with Bipolar Disorder. In November, 2012, she was inducted into the Literary Hall of Fame, Sigma Kappa Delta, and nominated for the Eric Hoff er award by her publisher in early spring, 2013. She is also featured in the summer, 2013 quarter of Forward magazine, and her work, Scarlet Flow, was shown in the World Book fair, in London, England in early 2013. Additionally, on January 5, and February 9, 2014, she was featured in the New York Times “New Voices, New Perspectives” segment; her most recent work, Quiet Sheba, was published by Traff fod in September, 2014. In the spring of 2015, Elizabeth received the Golden Seal of Excellence award by her publisher, Traff ord, for the work, Scarlet Flow.