30 Poems in 30 Days: A Little Advice
October 2, 2007 by J.C. Hewitt
This is Day 29 of 30 Poems in 30 Days
Six Quick Tips
We are almost to the end of our 30 day journey through the world of poetry. I still have several poems left to write and I am determined to do it, so I am not going to delve too deep tonight. Instead I am going to leave you with six quick tips to take forward with you.
- Nobody said writing poetry was easy. If they did, they probably weren’t very good at it. Accept the challenge. Embrace the challenge.
- Set aside time at least once a week to write poetry. It is easy to get out of the habit. I know.
- Poetry is therapeutic. Poetry can be a great way of dealing with anger or sadness. It is good to write your way through something, whether the poem itself is good or not.
- Buy at least one book of poetry a month. Try to support new poets and don’t be afraid to try someone you don’t like at first. You CAN learn from poets you don’t like.
- Look for ways to do something unexpected in your poetry. It is good sometimes to take a poem someplace that the reader did not see coming.
- Sometimes when you are stuck for something to write, it is because you are not doing enough things that are worth writing about. Take the time to live and embrace life, otherwise you may well run out of material.
Today’s Poetry Assignment
Write the final line of your poem first, then figure out a way to get there.
Today’s Recommended Poet
In my quest to add a little more international flair to the poets I am recommending, I went looking for someone from England to read today. I found a interesting poet with what I consider to be a similar style to mine (he isn’t that big on punctuating his poems either). I haven’t read a lot of his work yet but I think he is worth investigating. Take a look:
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My Circle
You are calling
Driving
Away from work
Or to the store
Or out to eat
I know you’re going somewhere
You are calling
You are telling me
About your day
About your job
Your classes
Or your family
And I listen
Or at least I try to
You are calling
As you move along
Without the need
For a word from me
Just a grunt
Or a thought
And you’ll keep talking
Your are calling
Because your father
Doesn’t listen
He only whines
About his life
And holds on to his ultimatums
Like love me now
Or not at all
He’s leaving but
He doesn’t go
And so you talk to me about it
You are calling
To vent to me
Frustrations
Pain
And lies
Not to mention
The car in front that moves to slow
The car in back that drives to close
The headlights in your eyes
Obscuring
The path to your salvation
You are calling
To unload your day
Down onto me
To process
And to leave behind
You know my day was empty
Too little to give away
So I don’t talk about my day
Removed from you
Stuck in a cube
Or my hotel room
Trying to accomplish something
You are calling
And I can only listen
I cannot help
I cannot solve
I can only stare at the wall
And try to be there
Long enough for you
To talk yourself
Back out
Of another day without me
I hold the phone
And let you talk
I know you’ll keep on talking
John,
That was a wonderful expression of caring, I felt the love and the show of affection over the phone. Congradulations, more wonderfuly spoken words. Love it
I’m sorry
Is it possible to hurt me
The way that you’ve hurt me
I never let anyone close enough to do so
But you did
My heart swells with brutal pain
My throat swells
I can’t breath
It’s clear it isn’t here
Not here
You don’t know
A woman so changing
The heart you so carelessly
and willingly Threw away
Being so open
Though not knowing it
How does this happen
Being so hurt… but not caring
I don’t think of you
But why
Why where you so determined to hurt me
Why did you leave
You’re so far away
Yet I’m still here
I was patient
You rushed
I wandered for days
You’re not in my thoughts
Yet everyday I’m reminded of you
My eye’s blurred with the reminder
Of you
I bite my nails
I question myself
I’m still here
Where are you
You’re gone
But I still see you
Please stop lingering
I did everything you wanted
But I was wrong
You don’t belong with me
I belong with you
I’m sorry
I feel drained and stripped of my cloths. I feel as though I could cry. I keep on reading your poem John and I sometimes I feel just like that girl. Sometimes I feel empty or in this case drained. Like it’s too late, it’s too late to give. I have a poem that I wrote about this. But it doesn’t fit with anyone of the lessons, I’ll put it here so that you can read it.
I Hope It Isn’t Too Late
Your my color
I’m only half a body
without you
my tears are empty
If you don’t touch me
what’s the use
my clossets full of clothes
that I’ll never wear
I’m not fat free
but only 125 lbs
I’m not a beauty
but your girl next door
your my only friend
my best friend
your my only paper
my diary
Without you
I’m nothing
without you this place
looks like a grave yard
my words mean nothing
if your not the ears listening
my life is full of people
but your the only one
I hope it hasn’t been too long
my heart is unfernished
no one knows me
like you know me
I just hope it isn’t too late
to say I want you
to say I love you
to say I’m nothing without you
Please don’t forsake me
stay with me
don’t let me go
don’t watch me stray
I’m on my knees
I’m in the dirt, the grime
my tears are dark
my body messed
I’m desheveled and empty
I just hope it isn’t too late
to say I want you
to say I love you
to say I’m nothing without you
I hope it isn’t too late
Rianon: This heartfelt piece would fit quite well with the assignment on repetition! (Well, they are both heartfelt, but I was meaning your second one above.)
John: This really says it all about married love, which encompasses contradictions and duty and other commitments and the dailiness of life and just plain tiredness … and remains steadfast. Which is in fact much like the Biblical definition of “charity”. You’ve created all that on the page (er, screen) at least for this reader.
Thank you Riannon and Rosemary. My day today is crazy, and tomorrow may not be much better, but by Friday I look forward to sitting down and reading everyone’s newest poems.
BURST OUT SINGING
you always
why do you always
on these journeys
at this point
so startling
sudden
lift me up
shining
like spray in the face
tingling
jewel-blue
ocean over Banora
————————————-
I actually got the last two lines first. They were one at that stage.
This is a bit different from how I’ve been writing of late. I’m conscious of having been influenced by Rianon and Pearl – which will probably shock them both, as they are so different from each other and this is not an imitation of either. Also it would have been influenced by the fact that I was reading Lorca for the “inspiration” assignment.
Wretched fate, inhuman circumstance,
Fatherless boys, a soul mate gone
So much to so many
Now taken away.
Barren and cold is this new world,
A bleak adaptation of its former vitality
Morning breaks now, not with a song,
But with a sob.
Dear WK: bleak indeed! I like the declamatory tone, the way it moves, and the things you have done with sound in the last two lines to make an almost onomatopoeic ending.
[...] 30 Poems in 30 Days: A Little Advice [...]
House Talk
For six months we looked at houses
like they could talk to us.
A duplex, new construction,
two blocks from a community garden,
said My builders had extra marble
lying around! They didn’t want to cart
those heavy slabs back to the warehouse!
The floors squeaked when we stepped inside,
but we could always walk barefoot.
A cute older cottage on 22nd Street
held some promise, but despite
the new kitchen, the inspection
report read, This house is falling down
around the new kitchen.
It was on a double lot. There was plenty
of room for camping outside, as necessary.
The perfect Bungalow home called to us
from a quiet block off Dancy Street.
It called, I’m way overpriced!
The next week it called, I’m taken!
We placed a bid on a refab on 37th,
a lovely stone affair that resided
in the flood plain, unsold for some
months, thinking, Time is money.
The owners replied,
Money is money too.
On a cul-de-sac where children play,
we found a beautiful new house
with a front wall of glass.
I grew up on a cul-de-sac.
I have many happy memories,
mostly of running away
after well-hit softballs
punctured glass windows.
The house said, I’m still here.
You’re still here. We need each other.
My wife said,
I think we should see
other houses.
For six months we looked at houses
like they could talk to us.
We carted our baby through the half-packed
lives of strangers,
placed her on kitchen floors
with plastic toys to chew on,
and pretended,
while we watched her,
we were home.
Saul Nadatas last blog post..House Talk
One day to go buddy. You’re almost there!