This year I decided to take a more holistic approach to NaPoMo, because writing is only part of my work as a poet. On the days I haven’t drafted new poems, I’ve been revising existing poems, looking for places to send them, and READING lots and lots of amazing poetry from around the world.
Here are a couple I drafted from phrases in a post at the Natural Dreamwork blog. They are a hybrid of found poetry and erasure poetry.
Natural healing process
skin your knee, the body mobilizes
the wound closes, the bleeding stops, a scab forms
leukocytes engage and destroy
fibroblasts build new skin
eventually the scar may fade
it’s against the law to remove antlers
from a national park
the wounded elk might be easy to miss
buried in a narrative
dreams are not narratives
they are a movement of feelings
the experience of space, time, and feeling
aren’t really separable
an image appears and beckons
wants to be my mirror
that bloody wound is my medicine
to face it becomes a healing
story-making spins away
distances, fails to notice the image
making it about anything
the medicine isn’t always delivered
Source material: http://thenaturaldream.com/dreams-are-not-narratives-they-are-a-movement-of-feelings/
I’ve been so busy writing and revising and READING wonderful poetry and posts about poetry that I’ve not done any posting of my own. Here is something I dashed off this morning between seeing the girl-child off to school and preparing for a 9:30 business meeting.
While you are away
eating avocado toast
alone is not the same:
there’s no one to give
the burnt pieces to
‘Tis April, and the lively poems
Do rhyme and meter on the page:
All tipsy are the editors,
And poets hold the stage.
With no apologies whatsoever to Mr. Carroll and his Jabberwocky, I hereby dive into National Poetry Month and NaPoWriMo 2018.
I may or may not post every day, but I’ll be reading and writing and revising. The little parody above came to mind yesterday. Today’s found poem was inspired by a post from poet Leslie Wheeler:
poetry as a dance with absence
all that white space, evocation, closing in
on loss, image and fragment
finding my way towards a poem I feel
I’m dancing with presence: stories written
everywhere I’m not skilled at reading
so I begin with my head full of names, partial
walks in the woods shaping, spending
time each day expanding
This week’s assignment for poetry class was to write a poem around the premise, “You crack me up with all this truth.” I riffed on the two words that jumped out at me, crack and truth.
Of truth and crack
Truth is like crack: the pure stuff
will set you free
but the stuff that’s been cut
with this or that
will really mess you up.
Truth cracks us over
the head like a two-by-four
– which is how the universe gets
our attention when metaphor
Truth continues to seep through
the cracks no matter how well we think
we have insulated ourselves.
Truth is the temblor that cracks
the foundation of every human
The china dolls say: If you tell us
the truth we may crack up; we prefer
During discussion in a poetry class last week, someone posed the question, “Is ice cream a decision?” Rather than allow us to become completely sidetracked, the instructor wisely turned the question into a writing assignment. If you feel inspired to join the fun, please post your poem in the comments or link back to this post from your own blog so I can read it. 🙂
Is ice cream a decision?
It is an imperative, a command
that cannot be ignored, force
powerful beyond the imagination
of resistance, second
only perhaps to air.
Flavor is the only true decision.
magnolia blossoms glow in the night-dark
yard, reflecting the moon’s light
as if they were themselves moons or sea creatures
impregnated with phosphorescent cells,
brightening the fertile gloom
in cool imitation of the unseen sun
I can always count on tarot to spark my imagination. This is from the Fairy Tale Tarot (Lisa Hunt, 2009), a gorgeous deck that is out of print but digitally available thanks to The Fool’s Dog. This image came from their Tarot Sampler IV.
A woman may swallow a seed
that is not a seed and bear
a child that is not a child.
A selfish old man may indulge
himself by pretending
to indulge his grandson.
A child that wants to play
with a box may be a raven
who steals back the sun.
A child may be a raven.
A box may hold the sun.
A thief may be a hero.
Things are not always what they seem.