Commencement

Today I thought I’d share a bit about my process.  The following piece started as a riff on Tennyson.  I’d been watching a movie a couple of days ago where a poem by Tennyson that repeats the phrase 'In the spring' was recited.  I think the next impulses were  the last line, and  thinking about spring being a beginning or commencement.  My daughter is graduating high school in several weeks. That led to seeking phrases that supported spring, beginnings and graduation. 

As the lines developed, I noticed that the phrases I was  trying out all ranged from 7 to 10 syllables. I tried to bring them all to the same length, but so far, I’ve managed half at 8 and half at 10.  I'm not sure the exact number is important, just the rhythm. At the same time, I noticed that I was using some internal  slant rhyme, such as wonder/wander/under and “relationship” words such as ‘blink’ and then the next line ‘eyes,’ or ‘window’ and the next line ‘panes.’

I’m still working on the single instance of passive voice in the next to last line -

perhaps 'hasty hands jot memories by smiling panes.' or 'hasty hands scribble in memory books.'?

Commencement

In the spring, fragrant blossoming trees froth blossom bluster and snow.8

In the spring, dandelions dot tender green.8

In the spring, orange cones pock disheveled streets.8

In the spring, dusty bicycles emerge  rise from sleep.8

In the spring, eager pale pallid skin faces blink in wonder. 10

In the spring, teen eyes flit wander from textbook to window. 10

In the spring, memories are inscribed beneath under smiling panes. 10

In the spring, tassels flip adolescents to adults adolescence to adulthood. 10

Traveling

I've just returned from a trip to spend Easter with my family in Denver.  We always drive, and it's always a challenge at this time of year, trying to second-guess the weather through 2 mountain ranges and a high desert.  We started out in a blizzard in the Salt Lake Valley, and by the time we reached Price, the snow had stopped.  When we came through the Eisenhower tunnel at Loveland Pass, it was 77 degrees. 

When I'm not trying to referree bored, restless teenagers, these drives are a time for contemplation and writing.  No, I don't write while driving! At the beginning of the trip, I hand my journal to my daughter, and she records the random images that come to me as we drive. Her pen was very busy while we drove through Helper, Price and Wellington, UT.  I suspect these ramblings will rearrange into an Ode to Carbon County.  In the meantime, this came to me this morning:

Soapstone sink and iron pump wait

beneath cedar shakes and redwood beams;

a place apart in green solitude.

River creeps to the sea while

salmon leap upstream and home.

Day 3 and Day 1

I have 2 entries for today.  One is an American Sentence that grew out of a FaceBook status from yesterday.  The second started percolating on Sunday.

Blooms froth the valley, snows frost the peaks, clouds fluff the sky, blue and white day

Sunday Punctuation

Her knitting needles click.

Yarn whispers when pulled.

His fingers tap the keys.

Coffee machine dribbles.

Washing machine rocks in rhythm.

Upstairs feet percuss.

Birds chirp in the pine trees.

Children chatter beneath the window.

Motorcycle roars in triumph.

NaPoWriMo

This is day 2 of National Poetry Writing Month.  It may seem as though I am late in getting started, but I'm going by the practice of posting the day's work on the next day.  I've been out of the habit of writing for several months, but I've not been idle.  I've been a knitting fiend, turning out socks, duffers, scarves and most recently a felted bag and slippers for my daughter.  I'm also teaching a friend to knit. The clicking of the needles and the detached concentration on rhythm and pattern allow thoughts and images to surface without ...needling.  The challenge is remembering them until the end of the row!

Once again, I'm focusing on  distilling language and  expressing it in short forms, but that certainly doesn't dictate how the actual work will appear. So here goes.  This quatrain developed from the last line, and then I followed the  sailing metaphor till it  felt enough.

Do not expect your sails to fill where breezes do not blow.

Do not drop your anchor where rough seas will rip it loose.

Do not lose your compass where gray clouds block out the stars.

Do not harbor hope where it no longer makes its berth.


See you again tomorrow!