Hearing Voices

After 90 days of poetry, I woke up this morning with a voice insistently narrating the first lines of his story.   I'll be stealing some time in the coming days (during my daughter's naps? before sunrise? after dark?) to see where the story goes.

Church Bells

My sweet little girl had ear surgery this morning.  Now, for the first time, she can hear perfectly.  We left the hospital to the sound of church bells chiming.  I can only imagine the shock of that full bodied sound to her. Water rushed and flowed in marble fountains.  Cars whirred past.  My daughter clung to me, clutching her ears.

As poets, we must listen as if we were hearing for the first time.  Listen to language.  To the sound of words.  To the cry of your child.  To the birds and the cars speeding by.  Listen, even if it hurts.

In the Garden with Sweet Pea

I spent Mother's Day in the garden with my two year old daughter, Penelope.  On this particular afternoon, we planted strawberries, oregano, chives, sunflowers, echinacea, and morning glory.  Gardening, like writing, is an act of faith.  It will take at least 10 days just to see a little green sprouting from all of those seeds.  Weeks will be spent watering and nurturing little sprouts into full fledged plants.  As I write each morning, I re-imagine what words can build. Patiently, slowly, quietly, we dig, we plant, we water, and we wait for growth.

Because it has a song

May is here!  I am embarking on poem # 65 this morning.  Sometimes I question why I bother to work at my kitchen table each morning before my little girl wakes up.  For many years, I have dreamed of writing a collection of poetry.  I often thought writing poems inspired by the news would be endlessly engaging.  One morning, I read an article about an infant in a Russian village who was rumored to have Koranic passages emblazoned on his body.  I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I rushed to write a poem.  The next morning, while reading the paper again, I pushed myself to try again. I don't know why that was the morning the project began in earnest, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my days longing to write.   My work is never perfect; I always notice the flaws and shortcomings.  But it reminds me of an Asian adage. "A bird doesn't sing because it has all of the answers.  It sings because it has a song." 

365

2011 NaPoWriMo is coming to a close.  Poets everywhere have been working diligently all month to write a poem a day.  We've transformed our voices and transcribed our world.  Why should we put down our pens just because the month is ending?

My personal goal is to create a year of poems, each inspired by the daily news.  Your project might be different, but I'd love to have some company.

Wrestling with words can be lonely work.  I wake up every morning, drink a cup of tea, and scan the papers for inspiration to begin.   Writers write. 

My hope is to build on the excitement of NaPoWriMo, and to create a community of poets dedicated to writing every day.  Let's follow each other's blogs, and keep the poetry coming.