Today is April 1st, the first weekly post after the March Challenge. It’s nice to have this day. It kind of feels like a bonus, a 31 plus 1 deal. Back to the old pattern of slicing once a week, but with so much more than before March. Join us! Read a post from this week or share a slice at Two Writing Teachers.
Last Sunday I was lurking on #titletalk: subject, poetry. The wealth of resources and knowledge being offered was staggering. While this is great, it’s also a bit intimidating. You see, I have this fear of poetry — not reading it. Reading poetry can shatter me. I marvel at it. Writing poetry (with no one looking) can be fun or cathartic. The fear factor comes in when sharing is involved. Poetry I’ve written is something I tuck away as a secret, never intended to see the light of day. In my mind it’s unworthy, something that doesn’t have meaning to anyone but me in the moment.
The poetry I’ve put out for others to see is what I think of as “mock” poetry: playing with my narratives creating erasure poetry or using others words to create found poetry. But poetry, created with intent, that I avoid. Maybe I fear places I might have to go to find it.
My thought and talk are more narrative in nature. With discipline, that talk can bounce to an argument stance. Informative writing requires a bit of research or expertise, but the form is clear and rather detached.
Poetry is something that seems to live in a different space, seemingly disassociated with talk. Hidden underneath. Something that takes patience, to tease out. The nature of life is hurried. Natural and emotional spaces are submerged and the poetry muse is easy not to see.
But can I continue to ignore? I saw this tweet.
Ok, ok I give.
If I’ve learned anything from SOL, it is that writing is possible. And this community is supportive, even in scary places. So I’m jumping, for April and for my students and maybe for me, knowing that I’m doing it with a net.
Miles Later
A familiar place
winding down streets
memories zip past.
We used to walk
stroller and dog
up and down.
That park
the twirly slide
you loved.
Static electricity
set your hair on end
and a shock.
Stories told
along the way
days gone and miles later.
A familiar place
the wind whips the sea
and my heart.
Thank you Tara, Anna, Dana, Stacey, Betsy and Beth for creating a safe space to share pieces of our lives.
To Read To Write To Be 