Thursday, April 1, 2010

NaPoWriMo ~ Week 1

April is National Poetry Writing Month, and I'm participating in a nationwide group write: a poem a day for the next 30 days. Hmm... Sounds intimidating. But here I am, tossing my hat into the ring. Check this blog now and then,

Text color indicates work in progress. White text is the original impulse for a particular day. Gray/black text is a deletion. And green text is new since the original impulse.

Where waters merge
green meets brown,
and the breeze buffets
my face and body
from all sides at once.

Clumps of clover grown high
on the incline of the levee
shudder, but on the water side
are rocks
like Caligula
with the tide.

Foolish king.
Water will have its way.

Whispering begins in the raffia friction
of last year's fronds, stubbornly refusing
to fall from the tallest palms.

Then bamboo rustles her taffeta leaves
as the
pipes that dangle from the eaves
begin to chime.

Wind animates them all,
with desire
at the roots of everything.

Why then should I let go of desire, let go
of it all~to crossover into Nirvana
or some other sweet oblivion?

Who would ever want to leave
these trees, this wind, those chimes?

DAY 5 ~ (Unasked-for) Advice for Writers
You are a writer
only when you write.
You are a Writer
only when you revise.

Learn to write
by writing,
then re-writing,
and by reading the Greats.
Listen when writers talk,
especially about writing.

Don't wait for inspiration.
Find inspiration in your writing.

Don't write to earn
gain love.
Love what you write.

Don't write to be
get published.
Just do your best work.
Have something to say.
Say it well.
But never worry about
Voice. That is a Marketing term.

Write to weave
patterns, to create order,
to construct meaning~
because meaning, like story,
is a constructed thing.

Write because
your days are haunted
by words, images, and emotions~
inside the private theater
of memory.

Write because, like me,
you have no choice
but to unburden yourself heart
of our
aching this barely endurable
love for this our phenomenal

Easter Sunday DAY 4 ~
A Poem by Frederick Mead
cConfessional tone.
sSexual longing.
sSpiritual groping.

I awake every morning
for an angel's burning kiss
or a poem on my lips~
aching to feel Chosen.

And so I start my day
constructing my voice
from all the available accents~
stout-hearted, yet guarded lest
my fragility show, armored
by personality.

I speak
iron, plainly,
volcanic sounds
from deep within my
lungs of fire,
words hammer-forged
inside the cavern
of my mouth.

I make seek
expressing meaning
through rhythm
or repetition,
near rhyme, or
the telling silence,
in structures meant to
and delight

You my
first Muse top banana
of in
my Pantheon cosmology, world order,
even though you might
never grasp my meaning
across the our gap
of language.


Fluttering hummingbird
heartbeats pulse felt

where skin presses
skin, bodies together
in pleasure, beating out the
syncopated measures of
Want, want, I want!

No comments: