  Poetry
This week: I feel a poem coming on... Edited by: Fyn-elf  
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. ~~Robert Frost
You can find poetry in your everyday life, your memory, in what people say on the bus, in the news, or just what's in your heart. ~~Carol Ann Duffy
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it. ~~Percy Bysshe Shelley
To read a poem is to hear it with our eyes; to hear it is to see it with our ears. ~~Octavio Paz
You know, people speak in poetry all the time. They just don't realize it. ~~Sherman Alexie
Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat. ~~Robert Frost
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---Wednesday - September 27th --- When I was sixteen, a reporter named Ron Stepneski wrote an article about me and my poetry for The Bergen Record. An honest-to- goodness reporter wanted to know about my writing! Another writer, someone who actually wrote for his living, thought my words had merit. It was such a pivotal moment for me. It validated my very being!
He asked me where I got my ideas from and I answered, without even thinking about it, that I'd see something or hear something and it would hit me and 'I'd feel a poem coming on.' Pure truth. These days, something similar will happen and I think, There's a poem in that somewhere. It will wriggle around in my head, come up for air, dive down again until it pops out with a 'Write me now!' emphasis and, having learned, I do just that! The dishes will wait, the laundry will wrinkle or the dining room table buried under 'flat-surface-itus' will just have to stay buried until I let that poem take form, until I let it out to fly.
Sometimes, it will surface in several different manifestations before I get it right, but I know I need to bow to my muse and let it breathe else I will go slightly more nuts until I do! Back when the reporter was talking with me, he took that comment seriously. He asked more questions about my writing process, about revision and when I knew a poem was 'finished.' I told him my Robert Frost story about revisions and always playing with poems that I'd thought were finished and how sometimes, they'd morph into something else entirely down the road. The point being, of course, that an idea could grow and change and that that one thought could, and did, lead in different directions and wasn't limited to one specific poem.
Recently I saw a posting on Facebook where someone asked what people thought was the 'most important' word. Lots of folks commented that they thought love or peace or hope were the most important. Others said family or truth. My thought? And. Simple word. A linking word. Me and you. My husband and I. The kids and I. Peace and hope. It links things we deem important to us in some way, shape or form. It brings together multiple essences. I thought, at the time, that there was a poem in this somewhere. One spilled out quickly, yet it is still rumbling around in my head. It isn't done with me yet!
It may burst forth as another poem or a short story. It may well explode into a novel. Who knows? That's the beauty of being a writer! (My muse wants to go off on a tangent, 'anding' about and I shall come back to this. I can't hear for my muse's screaming!
---October 2, 2017 --- Okay. My muse has been (temporarily) mollified and I am 17,000 words into what will become a new novel. Really wasn't sure what would spill forth, but my muse was on a roll! It isn't organized and hops all over the place, but I have the basic premise, main characters making fools of themselves while they establish while they are and what their philosophies are. And yes, the title of the book will be, simply, (but oh, so not!) And.
My daughter and I also spent the tail end of the week flipping my master bedroom and my computer room/office. MUCH more space in my office now, everything is neat and orderly and someday, I should be able to find the few things that seem to have gotten themselves lost in the process. But I can breathe and happily settle down to work stuff that needs doing today. I have a place for work, that actually works well and a different place to write. Yay!!!
I am surrounded by my antique books as well as my author books, my dragons and owls, and three other floor to ceiling bookcases that are full to the edges of their shelves. My patchouli incense is burning, my WDC coffee mug is full of freshly brewed Kona coffee and outside my window, my wind chimes are softly singing. Both spaces are perfect for a writing frame of mind and I am eager to attack each thing on my 'to-do' list.
Was reading some poetry, picking out some pieces for my newsletter and after reading a few, I had the stray thought cross my mind -- nothing I'd say in a review -- but I thought it. Wispy, wimpy poetry. Where's the zing, the fresh combination of words? Where's the crafting the wordsmith needs to employ? Where's the ethereal or the gritty, the raging angst or the sublime word combination that makes the reader smile?
I walked away for a bit, deciding to mess with my port. Went reading back into older stuff. Danged if I didn't find a bunch of 'wispy, wimpy poetry!' I had quite the conversation with my muse. She said that when I felt like a 'poem was coming on,' that it hit her like the tide of all tides was rushing in and she'd get knocked flying by the breakers. Then she lambasted me about muses coming up with ideas and it was my job to go back and polish all the writing dust off them. My muse is perched on the head of an owl hanging near my deck and smiling in a most superior manner. Sigh. Telling her she's right only makes her worse! She becomes 'drill sergeant muse' or 'indignant mother muse.' Got to keep her happy tho'.
---October 4, 2017 --- My muse is on a roll. It's like that idea was the crack in the dam, the writing (and mix-up of spaces?) was the last straw and the dam has burst. Heck with feeling a poem coming on -- feels like a whole collection! :) So here's to non-wimpy poetry, idea-filled muses and freshened outlooks!
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#2136536 by Not Available. |
| |  | I Saw You Today (E)
I saw my ex-boyfriend while heading to my bus a while ago and was inspired to write this
#2136520 by Elliot  |
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#2136399 by Not Available. |
| | | Just a Poem (E)
This is just something I happened to think up while I was bored in English class.
#2135972 by Blank Page  |
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Mary Ann MCPhedran  enthoused: I just love to write and what is (my) muse, it's what ever comes to my mind
and whatever I write, I write from the heart. I sometimes get it right and sometimes wrong-- But writing on WDC I'm jotting along. I have many friends who come inside. WDC I love you. Happy Birthday.
{user:oldmonty) writes: I agree with you about one thing and that is everyone gets better as they spend time here at WDC. You have given us a good N/L. Thank you.
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Poetry: October 04, 2017 Issue [#8530]
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