All Poems Come to an End (for now)

I spent just about every morning in April writing poems. First, I would head to Bud the Teacher’s site, get inspired by the image that Bud would share, and then I would write. I’d often try to add a podcast, to give a little voice to my words, on Cinchcast, and after sharing the poem on Bud’s site, I would head over to our National Writing Project iAnthology site, for more sharing. There, we had about 20 people involved in the writing of poems. Not everyone wrote every single day, but there were a lot of poems being written, shared, talked about, and even used as inspiration for poetry responses (ie, one poem inspired another poem).

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I started to run out of poetic steam by the end of the month. I did. But I tried to write through those walls as best as I could, and while not every poem I wrote is  a gem, there may be a few diamonds in the rough that could emerge as something better with a little work. My job now is go back, and see the poems through different eyes. What words are worth salvaging and refinishing?

My final poem for Bud was about coming to the end of PoemaDay.

I imagine my poems like leaves
falling behind with the seasons;
they burst into view
and become reborn again the following year
in the spring sunshine
of April
as something entirely new

Peace (in the poetry),

Poems All Over the Place

I write poetry throughout the year, but April rolls around and suddenly I am writing every day because so many of my friends and connections are also writing poems. They inspire me. Since the start of the month, I have been writing just about every day with Bud the Teacher, who posts an image as a writing prompt. I’ve also been sharing the poems, and others, over at our iAnthology network for National Writing Project folks. And I have been dabbing with Twitter-sized poems and Prezi poems, and more. In many cases, I have also been using Cinch to podcast my poems (see my Cinch site to listen to poems)

I’m not going to say that all of the poems are very good. A few are just a possible start towards something else. A few are written, posted and then discarded (recycled?). Here, then, are a few poems from the last two weeks that I think have some legs.

First, Lisa posted a call for poems about teaching on Twitter and her blog site, and I wrote this one not long after our standardized testing. I call it “The Muted Mind” because I was trying to get inside the head of a particular student.

Second, in the iAnthology, I was having a discussion with someone about ee cummings and the off-beat style of poetry. When Bud posted an image about “play,” I decided to play with a poem myself.
Playtime Poetry
This is a haiku that I wrote on the first day of April, hoping for warmer days.

Springtime whispers love
I sit here waiting for you:
a flower, blooming

One day, Bud posted an image of the Periodic Table of Elements. Here is what I came up.

Atomic Structure

electrons fuel me
as i circle around you;
where you desire equilibrium,
i desire movement;
they say i am nothing
but negative energy,
as if i am sucking the life
out of you;
they say you encompass
the positive energy,
as if that were the path
that lights the way forward;
we know better:
you are what fuels me
and I am what fuels you
and no chart on the wall will ever
uncover the magic of that.

Also on the iAnthology, a weekly writing prompt asked us to the concept of Hate with metaphor. This was difficult and I had trouble finding a way in. I decided to use Prezi again, and center my ideas around a giant version of the word Hate, and then end with a positive message.

And finally, this poem is inspired by the circular nature of math — a sort of poem that folks in on itself. It’s a Mobius Strip of words.

(start at the end)…. the particles
of the chalkdust that appear to be
rising exponentially,
mathematically creating wonders
that only imagination might otherwise
discover ….

…. i arrive at the chalkboard
in order to hold you off
with your rectangular eraser
so that my calculations and your expectations
might find a way to resolve
themselves …..

…. instead, the quarry of calculation eludes us,
so i stumble back through the cloud
to find my seat,
watching the sunlight from the window
reflect and refract inside … (return to the start)

What poems are you writing?

Peace (in the words),