Birth of a Poem

Birth of a poem comes

slowly even when the idea

is inspired. The labor

to find the right word

line breaks, and stanzas

does not come quickly

or easily. The pain

of editing is different

with each poem.

There are changes

some rearranged, then

critique groups or editors

are called to solve

problems I don't even see.

With this push, I finally

have a finished poem.

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Bonded By Our Words

Against all odds our online poetry critique group
has lasted twelve years.  We’ve been through a lot,
diagnosis, loss, worry, birth of grandchildren, children’s
weddings, grand celebrations, and publications. We hear
each other’s joy and pain through the writings. 

We carry on to encourage, critique honestly, learn from,

and inspire each other. Each of us are stronger for our union.
Our lives, personal and writing, keeps changing but the core
of the group, the friendships we have forged holds steady.
We are band of women, The Skywriters, bonded by our words.

Gathering Fellows

We gather to poem, the poets and I,
in the months of April and November.
We ponder, write, and share the angst
of producing that poem a day.

I like being surrounded, if only online,

by those who write poetry and prose.
This connection through stanzas and lines,
gathered fellows of the word, we poem.

Writing Naked

When I write from my heart
words spill out in rich red
pools that reflect me, then
I’m writing naked.

When I hide nothing
don’t think, let words flow
from that inner place
I’m writing naked.

When I let words go
don’t cover up, don’t try to hide
feel the thumping of my heart
I’m writing naked.

When I bare my soul
let things out from deep inside
go to that place I dare to tread
I’m writing naked.

When someone reads
my words or I send it out
I offer the gift of me
I’m writing naked.



　

She

Who searches for meaning

In every event, is always on

The look for happenings,

a good story, a jolting

Poem, or a good character

sketch.  She who knows

She must stay alert, grasp

The essence of the moment,

Then write what she sees

and feels.  That is what

helps her feel connected.

And alive; she who writes.

Poem A Day, April 2011

I vow that after I leave this month behind,
there will be no more stretches of blank blogs
or empty poetry folders.  What will make
the difference this time? I don’t know, but if
I don’t set my goals, no one else will care
whether I write or not.

At times I fear I’ll lose the desire to write,
I won’t see poems when I’m driving or when I
Have dinner with friends or family, especially
family, they are such good fodder for my lines.

Passion about anything is such a gift and I want
to honor that gift with hard work and pride in
what I do, even if it is only because I wrote
a poem today.

Second Thoughts

Corrections are made, I’ve clarified sections,

elaborated on the important segments,

but on second thought

maybe first person

singular or plural -

redo.

Coffee Zone

I sit here in contemplation as I write, read,
gather my thoughts, listen to the timber
of voices rise and fall around me. Life flows
here, through me and out again to others. There
is a symbiosis hard to explain to those not
enamored by the glory of life in the zone.

I hold the pottery cup in hands that soak
up warmth. Let the steam wake me up
before the coffee has its way with me.
Words will flow now from mind to fingertips
onto the bleached paper or computer screen.

I head back to Florida tomorrow. I love it
there but I will miss this place, this scene,
these smells, voices, and the cocoon
I have around me here in the Coffee Zone.