Sharing is Caring: Poetry Time!

I thought that I’d share some of my writing this month. In the past, I’ve written a lot of poetry but with my novel taking center stage, I’ve let that go. That’s not so cool. I’ll have to get back on that today. Until then, I wanted to share some of my older pieces.

Pictures to be Lost II – During undergrad, I wrote a series of poems dedicated to memories I couldn’t get out of my head of boys who were done and over. It was cathartic to get them out (and no they’re not all, boo hoo he’s a meanie). They’re just memories rather than “love” poems. This one, I can vouch  is not sappy. The others might be.

This Dead Metaphor – This follows that idea of getting rid of something that won’t leave your mind, like cliches (dead metaphors) you use in first drafts (which consequently is a something to watch for during revision).

Still Life – Sometimes, your world has a more interesting story than one you can make up. Case in point: this poem about a fellow student who lived the zombie life (go to class, sit in chair, get bag ready before the end of class annoying everyone, leave).

The Checkerboard Street – Inspired by a photo, this is one of my best poems that just came to life without much work.

So, enough with the past! I’ve moved up and on. Let’s see what I can dredge up…

The following was from a prompt that I found somewhere in a book for English teachers.

My mind is like…

A book with some of the pages missing.
Information stands, stark and lonely,
Ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice,
But not always useful.

And this is another little picture of my life. The day before I got married (Oct 15, 2010) was a bit crazy so enjoy:

A List: October 14, 2010

flight delayed
airport lunch with my brother and his wife
long flight to Atlanta
and slow taxi to the gate

elbow through the narrow alley
people attempting to get their bags down
a woman yells—
they’re all in a hurry—
fuck her—
keep elbowing through—
have to get to Alabama

run through the airport
make it just before the gate shuts

halfway there—
turn around—
web of cracks on the windshield—
a woman wails—
she is missing her wedding

board another plane

a white SUV stops
he steps out
blocks of green
standing in rows
on his hat—
his shirt—
his pants—
he smiles

And, the last poem I’ll leave you with is a funny one.

Ode to My Bedside Lamp

You’re a table lamp,
Some sort of fake material
Made to look silver and aged.
Your cloth shade is simple,
Tan, and aged looking.
You are the first on
And the last to sleep.

If only you could be the coffee maker,
Only turned on when it’s had fresh coffee.

Without you, I could not read at night.
When the power when out this summer,
It took three tealights to match your brilliance.

You only cost ten dollars at the dollar store.
I would not replace you with a more expensive model,
Because you do your job and do not complain.

Lighting my night side table,
You will be used and abused
As I knock you about in my morning haze.

Lighting my night side table,
I am not sure if you are happy.
Perhaps, if we left, you would chase after us
Like the Brave Little Toaster.
Perhaps not.


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