For example, today I’ve already written four poems and two blog posts, including my Young Adult Catholics one (this is my third blog post, and I think I’ll write a four before I turn in for the night). I did finish my novel last week, with much trepidation, but the response from my writers group helped me put my mind at ease. I’m going to take a little break from that novel now, which will feel weird as I continue to blog here. That novel and this blog feel inextricably linked, since I started them both at the same time — November 2008, my first month as a full-time freelancer.
Although I’m too late to officially jump on the National Poetry Writing Month bandwagon, I think I might pick up and try to write poems for the rest of the month. It seems a waste to let NaPoWriMo go by without me when I’m in love, since that’s what always shakes the poems loose from within me. Tonight I taught a poetry class at the library, and I wrote four poems while the students were also writing. So that means I’m only nine behind for the month of April! Here are a couple of them:
From a writing exercise in which you were allowed to use the name of an emotion as the title of your poem, but were NOT allowed to use that word (or synonyms for it) in the body of the poem, even as you described it.
Nervous My stomach insists I’ve swallowed a thousand crazy fish A smile tugs at my lips Laughter or nausea crawls up my throat, A volcano about to explode. Fingers trembling as they Reach for the water glass. Deep breaths—one, two, three— Straight back, Head high, Smile and open my mouth Never revealing the lie.
That was about my recent speaking engagement at my alma mater’s English banquet, by the way, where they loved me. 😉
And this one is my pantoum. Ah, how I love pantoums.
If this is the land of my heritage, Why am I just passing through? A house made sturdy with my father’s hands And the books on the shelf make it home. Why am I just passing through, One small stop on the way to forever? And the books on the shelf make it home But books in boxes make me rootless. One small step on the way to forever Is the stop that changes your life. But books in boxes make me rootless And I’m so tired of always looking for home. Is the stop that changes your life The one that can make you stay? And I’m so tired of always looking for home So please let me make it here. The one that should make you stay— Why am I just passing through? So please let me make it here If this is the land of my heritage.
Congratulations to me — this is my first non-angry pantoum. I’m branching out!