Poetry Project, V. 8.0, days 10,11,12

Whooooo!  And we get caught up today!  been a silly few days, and now I am looking forward to a long weekend in which I can hopefully get a few chores done, and perhaps some writing as well!  Of course, more poetry is on the way, but who knows, maybe I shall be able to get other writing done as well.  It would certainly be nice!  Anyway, on to the poems for today!!

a brief exercise

she her i you they
me him he us we - 
when you put them together randomly, 
it sounds ridiculous.
but put the word 'love' between any two, 
and it works.
it makes sense.
now try it with 'hate.'
it can be done, sure,
but which was more enjoyable?
love always wins.

hockey town

pale blue spring skies
hold sway over a quiet arena,
where later thousands will be gathered
to watch the spectacle -
heroes both made and broken
in contest with one another.
we've come so far,
but not far at all.
we're just a more modern Rome.

we fight sometimes

we fight sometimes,
but not like everyone else,
a battle of wits 
where the weapons are phrases like, 
"i love you more than _"
and we fill in the blank
the way we fill in the blanks spaces in each other.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 8.0, Days 7,8,9

Well, got a little busy this weekend, so I missed a couple days!  Oh joy!  Always difficult when that happens, particularly when it's followed by a day when I am not feeling particularly wordcrafty.  But, that's part of why this thing is a challenge every year.  You know what they say: Some days are diamonds, and some days are just stones.  Today?  Today is definitely a stone day!  But I won't wax philosophical about poetry too much today.  Let's get on to the poems!

sunny day in early spring

there's nothing like the smell of a 

fresh sweat 
that i've worked up while cutting the grass
on a sunday in the early afternoon
of a warm spring day in early April.
i long for these days until
i spend the time outside,
and when i want to take advantage of the weather 
i have to do work instead
and it feels like everything i want to do is supplanted
by the planting and needs to be done.

writing errors

some days
i know i'm writing something great
something meaningful,
something that i am proud to put my name to.
today is not that day,
but i keep writing anyway,
just like i keep working,
keep getting up,
keep going.
the error isn't in writing poorly,
but in not writing at all.

if you asked me

if you asked me a year ago 
where i was going
what i was doing
how i was going to get there
i would have had no answer,
and there would have been an awkward pause -
the kind that's not comfortable for anyone.
i would have shied away
not spoken
not dared to dream about the impossible
and not realized my own worth.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 8.0, day 6

Sometimes, coming up with an idea to write about is difficult, and one is forced to look through the toolbox to find something to cling to to pull from.  For me, the last thing I try and reach for is rhyme - it's not that it's a bad tool, but for me, it just feels like I could do something that's more indicative of "me."  But today is one of those days when I have to reach into the arsenal of literary weaponry.  What do I choose today?  The antithesis!!!!

It's a great little tool - set the reader up, and then pull away the proverbial rug from under their feet....right before hitting the message bluntly.  The idea is to cement the image or feeling into the reader in a more concrete fashion, thus engaging the reader on an emotional level.  It's an effective tool, and one that can be quite fun on occasion.  Anyway, that's what I'm reaching for today!

blue collar town in the rain

some cities are romantic when it rains,
but not mine,
some look like glittery jewels
with a time and fancy all their own,
with church bells ringing their muted tones
and old buildings reflecting off puddles gathered in cobbled streets.
but not mine.
they remind me of the movies,
with narrow alleys and dusty gin-joints
where villains conspire against a hero with a fast car
and a mean right hook.
or a comedy about lonely people
who meet at a park bench along a river walk
because a breeze blew a piece of paper out of his hand and into hers.
but not mine.
those things don't happen here.
that's not what this city does.
we do work, we do struggle and toil,
we do calloused hands and sweaty, sooty clothes,
and basement entrances where a make-shift shower and commode
sit out in the open
because papa came back from the mill and mama
wouldn't let him use the front door.
here, we do gritty,
the whistle blows, and we don't have time for romance,
even when it rains.

Thanks for reading,
Me

Poetry Project, V. 8.0, Day 5

One of the things I enjoy most about this yearly exercise is that I never know where it's going to lead.  There are a few pieces I've done that I really like - things that I think may have some quality to them.  Most, I don't find so amazing.  Some, I outright dislike.  Personally, I think that's ok, because it's a good reflection to do for anyone who writes.  Sometimes, I don't like a piece but for just a turn of phrase or one line that I think works exceedingly well.  Occasionally, I can look at something and say, "yup, I got it done that day, but I'm not going to really acknowledge this one, if I can help it.  Let's face it - there's a lot of bad poetry out there, and there's a lot of good stuff too.

I find that most of the time what makes good poetry is not the words nor the feelings of the poet - it's in the feelings and the thoughts of the reader as they experience the piece.  The poet can talk about anything they like, but it's up to the reader to attribute meaning and relevance.  The art - that comes in bridging the gap between feeling the verse, thinking about it, and the reader giving it some value.

That being said, here's today's offering!

to make a box

it's a simple idea - 
top and bottom and sides
to encase something -
something i've known from infancy,
and yet, 
when someone says 
they need a box for a purpose,
it is no longer so simple.
it must look like this,
act like that,
hold this for so long,
suit the purpose and the occasion.
a simple box that is no longer simple.
they are as varied as people -
chests, lockers,
trunks, cases,
urns, and caskets -
no matter the material,
no matter the construction,
no matter the price,
it's just a box.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 8.0, day 4

And we're back!  Yup, back to the daily schedule...ummm...so far!  More poetry, more stuff, more exploring!

I've been asked before, "Why do you do that thing?  Why poetry?  I just don't get it."  It's a great question, I think, because it's one where, over time, the answer will change...if you do it right.  I had the opportunity to ask this question to a young poet I met last week.  He's gone and self-published a book of his works, and was trying to peddle it.  I read a couple of his poems, and he's good.  His age showed, though, in his response:  "'Cuz I like it, it's simple for me, and there are things I want to say."  It's an excellent response, indicative of where he is on his journey.

It made me pause to think about my own journey, and where I am along that path - what I write, why I write, and why I write the things I do.  Almost all my writing is experiential - things I see or hear, or experience in some way and try to wrestle with.  Often, it's trying to find something deeper in the mundane, and using the everyday things to explore a concept that is greater.  So, "Why poetry?"  It's a simple answer: Poetry is one method to explore our world and all of its complexities, to break through barriers of thought using simple language.  It is one method to simplify the difficult concepts we encounter in life, in an attempt to better understand them.  I suppose I can say I've come a decent way from "'Cuz I like it."

With that said, let's entertain today's concept: truth.

the importance of i

the things i perceive are not truth,
nor are they fiction,
but passing through the realm between,
a phantom existence, 
there for a single moment - gone the next.
i think they are real,
they are truth, 
they are the new gospel,
and i follow the truth i make until it becomes real,
and lose myself in the process.
to find myself again,
a path not simple to find -
it begins and ends with a choice:
i am important, at first,
and i do not matter, at last.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry project, V. 8.0, Days 1-3

Oops!!!  Well, April has come upon us fast and furiously!  For those of you playing along at home, you know what that means for me:  Yup, it's the 8th year of doing the poetry project!  What is that, precisely?  I'm glad you asked!!  Since it's already the third, I have some catching up to do!!!

The challenge is to create a brand new poem for each day of the month of April.  Yup, something new, each day.

What's the point?  While this largely depends upon how you view poetry, the point is to exercise the mind by tackling all kinds of things, philosophy, love, beauty, all that good stuff that makes up "life."

Why poetry?  Because there really aren't very many "rules" about poetry.  You can sort of make it up as you go along, unless, of course, you're sticking with a specific theme or form.  But then, that's sort of a personal decision, and the poet is in control of that decision.  Some of my stuff I like.  Some of it....not so much.  Not every experiment is a good one, or a successful one!  But it IS an experiment, and as can be said of so many things, it's the journey that is the goal.

Oh - so there's one more thing:  You are invited to take this journey with me.  No, not just read along, but write some of your own!  You don't have to do it every day - that's my challenge to me.  But I challenge you to break out that pen and paper, and put some words down.  Let it be whatever it will be.  There is no pressure to share it, but if you feel something is worth sharing, I will be more than happy to listen, read, and if you're comfy with it, even publish it here as a guest poet!!!  Now, let's get on to some verse!!!!


grace

grace came to me,
not as i imagined,
but disguised as mercy.
in a smile and a nod,
a warm embrace of which i believed i wasn't worthy.
it took time to accept the truth:
worth is not how i hold myself,
but how others hold me.
and when i hold myself worthy of them,
and honor their view,
i see grace and beauty in its truest form.

confession

i save the best thoughts for myself,
never to see the light of day,
never to be heard by anyone,
tucked away in the silence of my innermost self,
there to dwell, securely.

right next to them,
the worst ideas stay, too,
the ones that bring ridicule,
or would if i let them out,
but i dare not.

and though i think of them as safely tucked away,
they are at war with one another,
fighting to be entertained,
striving to be the thoughts that take prominence,
and always trying to get out.

and i cannot tell them apart.

elemental

lives touch,
for some, it's all too brief,
a small spark that ignites and burns too hot
and runs out of fuel.
for some, it's slowly,
a building passion and fire that sustains,
and demands to be fed -
but offers constancy and warmth.
and on those rare occasions, it's both -
a liquid flame that gets into you, 
warms from within,
and demands to be expressed between two souls,
fated to meet and spark together.

Well, that's it for today!!!!

As always,

Thanks for reading!!

Me