These are some of my favorite poems from last winter. (They are still drafts, not final versions, and may not be shared outside this website without permission. Thank you.)
Phoenix designs are my latest affirmation-oriented passion. The first series of designs consists of these four eggs, each with an affirmation printed on the back side. The affirmations derive from my daily writing. Most mornings, I start the day by searching inwardly for an affirmation that fits my my orientation… then I find a picture that corresponds. I post these to my journal.
Winter, evening—same thing, that late phase of life. It’s a good time and I’m in it. I walk outdoors often, listening outward and inward. Sometimes a poem comes.
LIFE, LIBERTY, HAPPINESS
I’d stopped by the evening tree
(or else was stopped below it)
when there arose in me
this deep-felt certainty:
It’s one thing to be free,
but a better thing to know it.
“How do poems come to be?”
I was invited to answer that question recently. After a decade of writing poems, I could honestly answer, “Any which-way.” Today’s “Trading Partners” is a good example. It derived from the crow tracks pictured above. Other influences can be tracked as well…
During the Christmas trivia program at last week’s Lions Club meeting, I kept missing questions because I knew so little about the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life.” However, I certainly relate to the title and theme.
Today is my birthday. As I reflect on my wonderful sixty-five years of life so far, I feel well satisfied.
These are some of my favorite poems this month. (They are still drafts, not final versions, and may not be shared outside this website without permission. Thank you.)
* * *
It was this kind of a day…
Except for mesh-top athletic shoes, I’d bundled up warm under a green umbrella. The cold front’s wind had passed earlier, but drizzle and low temperatures remained.
Too late! I already took my photo.
This sign exemplifies the many “Don’t Do” warnings I encounter on my daily walks. Together, they signify that this residential area contains many undeveloped, languishing, or otherwise private properties. By “private” I mean they support a person’s being comfortably alone. Even the locale’s public areas—such as the nearby boat ramp and state park—are often unoccupied or almost so… especially in winter.
Okie is our orange tabby. His name has nothing to do with the Sooner State and Ethan is the only true Oklahoman in this house. When Okie adopted us in Texas, we dubbed him “O.K.” for “orange kitty” and that was all right with him. Since then, the name has shifted slightly. Okie shares the house with us, our finches, our two other cats (Scout and Ragget) and whatever wildlife temporarily comes in. Ethan and I rescue what we can. Here’s our latest adventure… involving a chipmunk and told in poem form:
As a poet, why have I avoided traditional forms so long? …Arrogance, laziness, freedom, efficiency—or what? My response is: All of the above, plus a good dose of fear. To me, it seemed a violation of an emergent poem’s integrity to stuff it in a straitjacket of just so many lines, beats per line, rhyme patterns, or even a prescribed mood or theme. “Let the poem make its own choices,” I protested, considering myself more midwife than mother. Besides, following all those writing rules is hard work.