Posts Tagged ‘time’

This is some advice I’ve received about writing poetry. I’m just relaying it:

  1. Concrete images trump metaphorical or abstract concepts. “Red grit bricks” trump “the voice of God,” “calloused knuckles” is better than “soul.” No one knows what a soul looks like. Concrete images are usually examined under the lens of metaphor anyway.
  2. It takes years to cultivate your voice. Try new and different things. Try traditional forms. Experiment with perspective and tone. Stay on things for a while. Try writing lists for a month, then try sonnets, and then try love poems.
  3. Write early in the day, or late at night. What you think is great in a moment may turn out to be crap later. Come back hours later and look at what you’ve written. Keep what you like. Cut what you don’t like. Don’t just try to change it. Get rid of it.
  4. Your heart is the center of your poetry. Get in touch with that, and let it pour out. You have time to rein it in later.

Happy writing. 🙂

Kiss Me and See

Posted: September 16, 2015 in Love Poems
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I am the ember

to your flower;

but I can’t stay red,

and you won’t remain evergreen.

Let’s use each other up

while time allows

our beauty to be seen.

If a minute were longer then so,

long enough to wonder

if my decisions will be transparent

or if they will last and people will know.

And long enough to wander

through the dark streets at dawn,

through the narrow streets accompanied

by a body of yellow fog,

and walk until the morning yawns into existence,

and then proceed through the halls I have come to know,

but with each step

I continue to grow, as all people do,

in that unseen way.

 

And who am I to leave something

more than ephemeral

on an otherwise simple scene, on an otherwise

simple day? Is it right

for me to ask for a bit of permanence,

to ask for more than a footprint

in the snow or in the sand?

Is it right for me to deny something grand?

Is it right for me to ask

for nothing more than the seemingly infinite warmth

in the clasp of a hand?

For, in a minute, what I announce

will be read, forgotten,

or- perhaps- renounced.

 

Life stretches toward both horizons

The dog excitedly barks at children across the street

Wind stirs curtains, leaves

Spruce branches sway like green tentacles

Birds peel their old plumage and blow their flutes

The robin inflates its heart

Clouds coalesce and disperse like cottonwood seeds

Sky opens and closes its perforated maw

Hours are marked by color and the sun’s position

Rain falls

Horns blare

Sprouts greenly fork out of soil

Wind ebbs and flows

Flowers brighten

Each horizon darkens to be lit again

It’s both difficult and easy to

imagine the Sky as something endless.

It is more difficult to imagine

everything under the Sky,

though both sky and the realm below it

have always been,

for every thing living and imagining,

between the two.

when sun beams

brown to bronze

bronze and yellow

clock yawns ticking tears stick

sleep and grog wake with steam

wreath wake with sniff

eggs out basket yolk to china

table light bronze yellow

shimmer shimmer eyes

perk up perk up mug

drip sip dribble spoon

knuckles chime hold place

lean so stiff

slurp and blink

hand down on table yellow

bronze and yellow

because sun is greeting

Hurried Day

Posted: April 18, 2014 in Poetry
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Sun gallops over

me, I am burdened-

many things to do-

too soon comes Day’s End-