A Poem Podcast: Trying to Make My Writing Visible

Creative Commons License photo credit: Selma90

Many of us write in silence, with just our thoughts ringing out inside. This morning, as I was about to move into the 19th day of writing a daily poem with Bud Hunt and his image-inspiration concept (each day, Bud posts a picture and encourages us to write a poem), I thought I would try something a little different.

Before I even went to Bud’s site to see the picture of the day, I turned on my microphone and began to talk. My goal was to try to make visible my writing process with today’s poem. I did this because I have noticed how often my poems seem to have little relation to the photos that Bud shares, and yet, the photos are the spark of inspiration. And I write without stopping to reflect on what I am really doing. I go with the flow. But where does the flow come from? That’s sort of what I was after.

I realize that this podcast is a bit self-indulgent, but if you have time and interest, I would love for you to give it a listen and see what you think. I’d appreciate some feedback on this kind of on-the-spot reflection. And I wonder, is this kind of vocal writing feasible in the classroom? What if we gave out voice recorders and asked kids to talk as they wrote and edited? What would happen?

Walking Through a Poem: A Podcast Reflection

And then, here is the poem itself that I wrote that was inspired by the apple photograph that Bud shared today:

In the orchard, I climb trees
in places where the branches twist and turn
as if they are a road map to some forgotten place
and my eyes travel these roads to remember.

I swerve to avoid the humming bees,
and ignore the other travelers along the road
as I reach out my fingers to grasp the treasures
of time and space.

In the orchard, I remember the taste of memory
as sweetness and sour
and bite into life with my eyes closed,
thinking always that this moment may soon disappear.

I rest, weary, on the damp grass
and gaze up through the branches, again,
my vision zigzagging towards the blue sky above;
my world crunching in my mouth.

In the orchard, I climb trees
in places where the branches twist and turn …

Peace (in the podcast),

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