Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts

Sunday, December 5, 2021

Poem: Home

I haven’t been keeping up with my blog lately. I guess that comes with taking the entire summer off. Getting back into the swing of things is hard.

Anyway, poetry is still dear to my heart, so I just had to share another one with you today. I borrowed the prompt from Julia Garcia at Drops of Inspira. This one explores the concept of home. What is home?

For an army brat, home isn’t necessarily one place. It’s not where my parents are from—I never lived there. It’s not the last place I lived because that would ignore all the others. It’s not even my favorite places because that would leave out all the others that made me who I am today.

Home is… well, I think I’ll let the poem explain.

Don't forget to vote on your favorite poem from 2021!


 

Home

 

she sits in the attic collecting dust
                                    and spiders
while my feet are itching without these callouses

how do people do it year after year?
watch the leaves turn
                                    and drop
to stare at the bare wood
that blossoms with green
rich, entrancing full of cicada song
only for the leaves to turn
                                        and drop again

all the world’s a clock—
the month striking twelve,
and I’m still here
strapping on my boots,
knotting the laces while the dog tries to eat them
stay
—she pants—
bleib*

but my heart is yearning to bound up the stairs two at a time
dust off the suitcase
and go

 

***


*bleib—German for “stay.” Since our German Shepherd, Pfeffer, I’ve been teaching our dogs German and English commands.

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? What makes home for you?

Similar poems: Blue, Pronunciation, and Homesick

Sunday, November 7, 2021

Poem: Circuit Board Quilt

Talking about one’s thought process is always interesting. Some people process ideas by talking through them, others by quiet contemplation. Sometimes I’m a little bit of both. I’ll talk through a plot point when I’m stuck, but more often, I’ll mull it over to myself.

People often refer to me as a quiet person. I remember back in my undergrad, during my senior year, I gave a presentation to a class, and afterward my professor told me that was the most she had heard me speak during my entire time at college. Oh yeah, she was also my advisor. It surprised me because I saw my thoughts as being incredibly loud and had forgotten that I’m the only one who processes them.

I didn’t really discuss things in class, until I went on to study my masters. Now I’m a teacher, and I have quiet students who don’t want to break out of their shell. Here’s to the quiet thinkers.


  

Circuit Board Quilt

 

stop

i can’t get it to stop

these pulses that go on

and on like a circuit board

that’s never switched off

 

how do all the wires work?

amazing that somebody came up with them

and could store ideas on something so small,

the accumulation of technology

built up over time

history

 

that reminds me i need to remember to make a lesson plan

and maybe eat lunch before 3pm

for a change

 

change—it’s easier to do the math in my head

when i’m thinking of money,

but honestly i miss european currency

where it wasn’t all quarters

and they actually had a twenty-cent piece,

and another coin for a pound or two euro

 

or maybe my mind

is more like a quilt

with threads intertwined

one on top of another

                        on top of another

until I can’t see the pattern

but it’s as if everything is connected

it’s been a while since i made my first and only quilt

maybe i should pick up sewing again

 

i’ve heard it said

that a man’s mind holds compartments,

boxes if you will,

one of which contains nothing—

the nothing box—

where they simply exist

a man’s mind, who am I kidding?

my sister says she has one, a nothing box

 

but in my mind,

where would all the energy go?

 

i’ve learned to deal

with long stretches of no activity

boredom some might call it—

i’d be lying if I didn’t agree—

but i’ve found a way to dream up stories

while sorting shelves,

listening to music and humming along,

all the while ready to shuffle the cards

mid-song to have a conversation instead

 

i can pick up where i left off

            later

halfway through a stich

or maybe i’ll use my stitch remover—humility tool—

and start something altogether new

 

***

 

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? What’s your thought process like?

Similar posts: Do Not Dissect This Poem, Writing a Poem, and Thoughts of Place


Sunday, February 7, 2021

Poem: Do Not Dissect This Poem

The other day my sister told me she didn’t like poetry. *gasp* When she explained that she had to analyze a bunch of poems for school, and she said she’d make an exception for sonnets, I started to understand. Poems aren’t meant to be torn apart. When I look at a poem, I don’t think, “My, what consonance!” Whatever that means. Rather, I may think, “Wow, that was pretty.” Or even, “Huh, I never thought about it that way before.”

Poems are meant to be experienced, felt. The following poem is my response to schools sucking the joy out of words in what I hope is the spirit of The Dead Poet Society.

Here’s to the students struggling with senioritis.

Here’s for you, sis’.


Do Not Dissect This Poem

if you would, simply set aside the rhyme—
feel the rhythm, this ever-beating pulse.
Close your eyes and imagine the springtime
fresh with morning rain…

Can you hear it?
Listen closely.
closer
ba-dum
                    ba-dum
                                        ba-dum

the ever-thrumming heart
of a runner as his feet pound this earth,
the ever-expanding-depressing
chest of the bull that croons,
the ever-silent pad
of her toes
on the floor

ba-Dum ba-Dum ba-DUM
Shout! it out
Stomp your rhythm
Clap your song

ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum
remember the days you laughed,
the mornings you cried
the places you came from,
look to where you will go and see

hear me ask
Don’t dissect this poem, if you would
simply let it squeal
let it sing
let it be



***

Let’s chat! Without disassembling my lines, what did you think of the poem? What’s your take on poetry as a whole? Do you prefer form poetry or free verse?

Similar poems: Writing a Poem, Pronunciation, and The To-Be-Read List

Sunday, October 11, 2020

Poem: Cathedral Caverns

It’s been a little over two weeks since my poetry collection released! *throws confetti* *cat tries to eat confetti* *chaos ensues* Now, I’m actually having a hard time figuring out which poems I want to share on the blog. I’m not sure why. It just happens sometimes, I guess.

As I was thinking about the poems I’ve written this year, I realized I hadn’t written much about what it’s like to live in the American south. I thought about some of the places my dad and I have visited lately, and the Cathedral Caverns came to mind.

Before we went, I was really skeptical. I mean, I’d seen Carlsbad Caverns before, a massive expanse of caves in New Mexico. I’d seen some rather disappointing lava tubes on the Big Island of Hawaii, and the sandstone caves carved out of the rock beneath Nottingham Castle. When we were kids, my dad used to take my brother and I exploring in the amazing lava tubes by Mount St. Helens. What could Alabama possibly have to offer?

The answer: a lot, at least when it comes to caves, hiking trails, and the history of space exploration. Cathedral Caverns actually did remind me of some of the European cathedrals, and it was a pleasure to visit. I had almost forgotten how much I enjoy caves.

 

Photo credit: Michael T. Klein

 

Cathedral Caverns


The way I remember the difference
between this word and that
is by word play—
stalactites cling tight to the ceiling,
and stalagmites act like little mines on the floor,
Though I recently heard they might one day reach higher up.

I don’t recall the drip, drip
of water here so much as the murmur
of the creek below.
shhh
take lighter footsteps
and don’t speak louder
than a whisper
Shhhhh
can you hear it?

After we turn around the column
aptly named Goliath and larger than my house,
past the heard of stone elephants
tromping through the water,
we reach the Stalactite Forest,
and I am stunned
by the way this one
looks like the jellyfish
carved into ice in Sweden,
or how that one resembles
a turtle, a Viking, an eagle,
all stone that would make
the dwarves of Erebor gape.

How I wish I could swim
to the top, but I am stuck to the floor,
pinned by gravity and soon—
total darkness.

Breathe in—
can you see it?
Nothing.
Breathe out—
blink and behold
the starlight
that illuminates
the walls like a three-D model.

Breathe in—
the dark.
I can’t see my hand
in front of my face.
But it’s not the dark I fear,
nor the winter shelter for the bats,
nor even the thought
of being alone.

I am not afraid today,
though I know this tour
is nothing like the great escapades
of Verne or Tolkien,
but I relish the moment
and breath out as the lights come back on.

 

***


Don’t forget to check out Dandelion Symphony, my poetry collection. If you’ve already read it, if you could post a review on your favorite site (Goodreads, Amazon, and/or Barnes & Noble), I would appreciate it a lot!


Let’s chat! What’s your take on caves? Do you have a favorite?

 

Similar poems: Down South (Audio), Ode to Winter (Video), Cathedral

Sunday, June 21, 2020

My Process for Writing Poetry

I’ve been talking a lot about poetry lately, but I haven’t ever really posted how I write poetry. I hope to remedy that with this post, which isn’t exactly how to guide as much as a how I write explanation. I tend to write more free verse than form poetry, so I’m not really going to talk about meter or rhyme.

And for those of you who are interested, if you haven’t already heard, I plan on releasing a poetry collection later this year, so keep an eye out for Dandelion Symphony.

 


1)   Finding a Setting

I used to think that I couldn’t write poetry unless I was inspired. Until I came to realize that the main way that I write poetry is based on a particular setting that I’ve been to. Sure, some of the poems take on a life of their own and ultimately may not be based on anywhere real, but I like to keep the setting in my mind while I write. It gives me a good basis.

I discovered this tidbit after a writing prompt sprint with a friend. We each picked a picture for the other, then wrote based on the photo. Each picture, I found, reminded me of someplace I’d been and the memories I had there, making it that much easier to write.


2)   Determining the Format

Once I have an idea what I want to write based on the where, I have to determine the how. Typically, I’ll write in free verse, discovering the poem as I go, but on occasion, I’ll start off with a particular form in mind. Iambic pentameter is perhaps my favorite. There’s something easy to fall into when it comes to ten syllables while still allowing me the freedom to start and end where I need to.

Even when I write free verse, though, I usually have some kind of structure. Sometimes, I decide to write a form poem. Or maybe I’ll pick a topic sentence that shares some themes throughout the stanzas as they evolve. Sometimes the stanzas take on a similar length. Sometimes they don’t. It all depends on the poem.

 
The first snow is fleeting,
fluttering one moment and
melted the next—

—excerpt from “The First Snow”
 

3)   Playing with Metaphor

This part is probably my favorite. In my creative writing class, I remember my professor talking about metaphor and the best way to talk about emotion without mentioning the emotion itself. For example, if I’m going to write a poem about neglect, I might write about a sunny day where my garden plants didn’t get enough water and are looking a little droopy. Or maybe if I want to write about excitement, I’ll write about the smell of coffee or the thundering or horse hoofs while horseback riding.

One of the best ways to play with metaphor is to find something that hasn’t been said that way before. If I can’t think of something completely original in all history of writing, I’ll try to think of something I’ve never written before. For example, anger is often likened to a burning fire. But what if anger was instead a river that slowly eroded its banks? Or what if fire was instead a way to transform, like how matter is converted into energy?


4)   Abandoning Clarity

One of the things I love about poetry is that it doesn’t have to make sense. Not like prose does anyway. I’ve often gotten feedback that my prose doesn’t always make sense, but I rarely get feedback that my poems are too confusing. That’s probably because the different forms have different purposes. Prose is typically for telling a story or facts, and verse is for exploring emotion and imagery. Rarely do emotions make sense, though verse can be a way to try to understand them.

 

5)   Keeping it Honest

No matter what I’m writing about, whether it be a fond memory or a made-up moment, I like to keep it as honest as possible. No place is perfect, and no memory is completely horrid. Keeping each poem honest helps keep me from being over sentimental.

Take my poem, "Romantic", for example. When visiting Venice, I noticed how all the advertisements and film would post all the beauty but leave out the trash or the alleyways. In part it makes sense. Most photographers focus on the perfect angles, but they don’t always capture the experience of being in a place. So when it comes to writing poetry, I like juxtaposing the good with the bad, the unpleasant with the pleasant.


I relish watching the glassblower
tug at the liquid fire and mold it
and pull until he sets a little red horse, solid,
on the table.

But try finding a place to park
outside the city inside a garage
where your car is no longer a car
but a sardine packed among sardines.

—excerpt from “Romantic”


Let’s chat! Any fellow poets out there? What’s your process for writing poetry? Do you prefer form or free verse?

 

***

 

Similar posts: Poetry Collection Announcement: Dandelion Symphony, 3 Types of Writers You Should Know, and The Importance of Poetry

Sunday, January 12, 2020

Poem: Homesick

People don’t often talk about reverse culture shock. But it’s been on my mind for the past several months. Since moving back to the United States from Europe, I’m still learning how to readjust. If I’m completely honest, my first impression of coming back was mostly negative for various reasons.

First off, many of the buildings in the US are just plain ugly, especially compared to the Bavarian-style structures I’m used to seeing everyday. Sorry, not sorry, America.

Then there’s the over friendliness. If I’m going out grocery shopping, people want to talk to me for some reason. I just want my apples, so please, please leave me alone. One stranger even tried to offer me a job when I just wanted to go through the checkout line, and I actually enjoy my current job, thank you very much. (Leave me alone!) I miss the blunt, honest fashion in Germany where people mind their own business.

I am learning to adjust though. I like my house, and I’m super excited that I can do whatever I want to the garden come spring! It’s a huge garden. And did I mention my job is awesome? The other day, I had a kid fold me a little paper crane, and it was the sweetest thing.


Enjoy my poems from 2019? Be sure to vote for your favorites here or comment below! Categories include your favorite, best imagery, and most heartfelt.

Update (14 Jan. 2020): Vote for my poem "When I was Little" on Little Infinite.


Homesick

Is it possible to get homesick
for a place I’ve never been?
To hear the hollow echo in the pit of my heart
as the revelation settles in,
covering my arteries like a coating of dust
speck by speck
—this realization that I’ve never truly belonged.

I miss the way the forests reclaimed the city,
and even though there was still smog,
I could bike to work through the woods.
I don’t like how now I look out the window
in this sticky refrigerated restaurant
and see a boxy convenient store, a cemetery, a street.
Is this what they call a view?

I laid in the grass beneath the blanket of sunshine
to escape the throngs of people
yet a lady still found me,
and asked me how I was.
Why are the people so nice here?
What do they want from me?

Ask me where I’m from one more time,
and I just might tell you—
I don’t know.

I don’t know anymore.

***

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? Have you ever experienced culture shock or reverse culture shock? What was your favorite poem of mine from 2019?

Sunday, February 17, 2019

7 Things I Learned from Writing Poetry


This post is not a how-to guide for writing poetry. Rather, it is a compilation of a few things I have learned while writing poetry. I wouldn’t go so far as to say any of these things are rules but rather a couple guidelines that I have followed during the writing process.

I wasn’t always a poet. In fact, I like to claim that if it weren’t for a certain philosophy class I took in uni, I wouldn’t have taken an interest in poetry at all. As I struggled to understand modernism and postmodernism and why even philosophers don’t understand it (seriously, why???), I wrote a very odd performance poem about madness.

Thus, my interest in writing poetry was born.

Sure, I probably would’ve come to write poetry in a different way, seeing as how I took a creative writing class the next semester, but I like to think fondly back to that ridiculous poem. Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about reading poetry and certainly a lot about writing it. Here are just a few facts about the latter.


1) Not all poetry is nonfiction.


This little tidbit I picked up from my creative writing class. Poetry is tied to emotions and metaphors, but that doesn’t mean you have to experienced them to write about them. When I wrote “Puddle”, I wrote about the melancholy change that comes with nature in comparison to a break up. But here’s the thing—I’ve never dated before much less had a break up.

So how did I write the poem? I just made it up.

Novels in verse even come in many different forms from contemporary fiction (Saving Red) to historical fiction (Blood, Water, Paint) and from classics (Paradise Lost) to memoir (Brown Girl Dreaming). Stand alone poems are no different. Some of them may be fact while others pure imagination.

2) Metaphors are fun to experiment with.


They’re probably one of my favorite parts of poetry. Comparisons that might sound forced or confusing in prose make for some excellent poetry, and readers don’t need everything spelled out for them. Though I still strive for simplicity with each poem, I like being able to overlay lines or phrases with multiple meanings and explore metaphors by asking questions like “How can I say this in a way that’s not cliché?” and “What shows and evokes emotion in the reader without outright stating it?”

For example, when writing “Heartbeat”, I played with emotions like unease and fear and mashed them up with imagery from Mount Saint Helens with its lakes where pine trees still lie beneath the water and the sulfur pools from Yellowstone National Park.

please don’t ask me to relax, for still I
feel the avalanche, lifeblood of this sphere with its
veins of ash and fire pulsing to drumbeats
in the deep
—excerpt from “Heartbeat”

3) Structured poems are challenging but rewarding.


I’m not much of one for sonnets (too sappy), and I still can’t write a villanelle (help!), but every now and then I try my hand at something other than my usual free verse. Typically, I’ll write something in iambic pentameter, with ten syllables in each line and the stress being on every second syllable. It’s got a nice rhythm.

The hardest part is finding words that fit the meter and still have the poem make sense. Sometimes, I’ll play around with the order of words and see if I can rearrange the sentence and still have it make sense.

My friends and I, we’d build small forts to hide
pretending tales were life with every stride.
Like sweets, the sap did cling to child’s small hands
and time blew through the trees with open fronds.
—excerpt from “Pine Trees”


4) Even free verse poetry has its guidelines.


I’ve been told
in many a book review
that writing poetry
is not just
hitting enter.

Which is why I’m not going to write this whole section and pretend it’s a free verse poem. It’s not. Even though free verse poems can be vastly different from structured ones, they still differ from prose in complexity and imagery and spacing, you name it.

My biggest struggle is with line length and whether to break apart certain phrases or keep them together. Even more recently, as I read and record poems for my monthly posts, I’ve come to discover just how important rhythm, punctuation, and line length are for ease of reading. “Small Talk” isn’t a bad poem visually if I may say so myself, but man was it hard to read aloud with so few pauses! If you happen to find my poems with more commas or pauses, it’s for reading ease.

5) I can’t force myself to write a poem.


A lot of people say that you can’t wait for inspiration to strike, that you just have to write. And I agree for the most part. Except when it comes to poetry. I’ve tried forcing myself to write poems instead of just letting the lines flow. Each time, I’ve wanted to set the final result on fire.

Maybe that means I’m still an amateur at writing poetry. Maybe not.

Either way, I usually have to wait for the poem to come to me. Inspiration takes many different forms, but for me, more often than not, it’s nature. If you haven’t already noticed, a lot of my poems tend to be nature poems. That and I tend to write the best poems in my head while I’m exercising. All my best exercising I do hiking through the woods, biking to work, or jogging through open fields.


6) Even poems may require multiple drafts.


I never post a poem or send one out for publication without first running it by my lovely critique partner, Faith. Back in university, we used to tear each other’s poems apart a lot more—maybe there’s something about reading them in person that makes it easier to examine or maybe we’ve both gotten better at writing. Now we continue to review each other’s work, from blog posts to poems, and I find it’s helpful not only to have somebody make sure I used the write word but also to ensure I made sense.

7) Poetry is meant for sharing.


The more I read and write poetry, the more I come to understand this one. Poetry isn’t just meant to be read quietly in a living room or alone in a sunny field. It’s meant to be shared and discussed. As I mentioned when I attended my first book reading/poetry night, sharing poetry with a group and hearing their favorite poems helped me better understand my readers. I also like it when I’m reading and a family member is around and I can share a line or maybe an entire poem with them. It makes reading that much more enjoyable.

Let’s chat! Any fellow poets out there? What’s your take on writing poetry? Reading it? What’s the last poem you wrote/read? Links welcome!

***


Literary references: Sonya Sones’ Saving Red, Joy McCullough’s Blood, Water, Paint, John Milton’s Paradise Lost, and Jacqueline Woodson’s Brown Girl Dreaming