Writing Poetry ... A Reflection

This past week a friend from my little church with the green doors asked me if I thought I could write a poem in celebration of the church's 175th anniversary. I would love to, but have been suffering the worst case of 'block' when it comes to poetry over the past year. It all started when my father passed away. I can't for the life of me think why losing Dad would dry up my poetic muse, but it has. The amount of work I've produced since his death is pitifully small.

That being said, it might be time to push myself a bit. I'd begun sharing past poems at an Open Mic event that is a monthly thing at our little church. It's what got me in this situation of being asked to write 'on demand', I suspect. I've shared some of the older things that I've written, some good pieces and some pieces that I wrote fast with the idea of editing down the line.

Now, I'm in the situation of being expected to create something new.  I'm scared and I'll freely admit it. Words used to come easily. I would wake up at the strangest hours and have phrases, images, whole poetic scenarios in mind. I'd get up very early in the morning and write for an hour or two with no thought of time. I wish for those days (and nights!) to return. Until they do, maybe having a set event to write for is a way for me to come back to writing poetry. I miss the writing process and the feeling of a bloom of words and ideas uncurling and finding their way onto the computer screen or the notebook page.

Maybe it's time to begin again ... stay tuned.

The Weight of Water - Mag 159

The Weight of Water

Walking up the rise, the bucket sloshes-

small waves slog back and forth,

curling against the ash staves, droplets

splashing up and over to land cool on dirty feet.

The grass is green here, surely as green as there.

The sky is as blue and the sun is as bright -

acchhh, surely as blue and golden …

Still, there, half a world of water curls green as jade

and the sky holds a golden coin, shiny as Da’s

Friday pay and is as blue as chicory flowers by the way.

Waves, high as the cottage roof, roll soft until the crash

Birds scree and ride the air, dive for stones

That might be bread.

This bucket holds naught but a drop compared

This belly, full with just a bit more,

Sloshes up this hill weighing down this heart

Small drops fall to christen this green earth

with the pain of separation

A fast write … there is so much more that I want to convey in this piece … more images, and the crucial bit about a child waiting to be born in a new country, who will perhaps never see the green of the other place that his mother misses so desperately. 

This leads me to a question about your writing process. How do you work up the concepts in your poems? How does your story develop? How do you block your poems? 

Acchhh, this poetry is a hard thing sometimes!

This post is shared with the other writers who participate in the weekly writing share at Tess's Magpie Tales. Check it out ...

Stephen King On Writing - A Memoir of the Craft

"Genius is nothing more nor less than doing well what anyone can do badly."

                                                              - Amelia Barr, British novelist

 

 

I've just finished reading Stephen King's memoir on writing and am still processing all he has to say. So much of the advice he gives is really common sense when I think about it. Alas, that is the problem with advice, though. It's always struck me as an easy and cheap pitch to a child to tell them to "just sit up straight, keep peddling, and don't look down, look where you're going" when helping them to learn bike riding. This is basically what Mr. King tells the would-be writer reading his memoir. Sound advice, but boy, it's a lot harder than it looks ... at first.

 

Many a child has pitched off the bike to scrape knees and hands just as many a writer crashes up against the hard pavement of creative roadblocks and criticism ... or rejection. It takes a determined soul to stick to the task and that is where King's humor and bravado serve as a wellspring of encouragement. It was interesting to read about his early life and the events that shaped him as a writer. He looks at his life with an honest eye and a sharp sense of self-deprecation. Through that lens, the reader can see some of his stories and novels as small slices of his life. He distills images and events that he has experienced and, with the incredible power of his imagination, unearths his stories from the primordial muck of his unconscious. He is an amazing talent.

 

Yes, he is a diamond in the rough character with a vernacular that may shock some readers, but when you get past the foul language and rough humor, you find sound ideas and knowledgable theory about the writing process ... a good read. Oh, and the guy has good taste in literature - his reading lists are full of good stuff - just sayin'.