So I’ll be on vacation for the next several days. The triple digit Texas heat is a great excuse to get out of town and head to the mountains. My posts over the next several days will either be photos or repeats…but hopefully inspiration will strike.
Be well and write on. You never know what the next word will uncover.
Anthony
Photo: Windmill farm in West Texas.
so it is here
strange to look at
to consider
to comprehend
a number
without a signifier
a signified without
a number
between the years
are days minutes seconds
measurements
of past
nothing to show for it
a dream
a vision
did it happen
only if remembered
so 34 measurements
are gone
how many more
will tick by
like reflectors
on roadways
illuminated
by lights
12.3.2008
The photographer scurries
through the park, his camera
swinging across his chest.
His eyes disclose
that he captured something,
so he hurries to the darkroom
where a revelation of black
and white awaits.
Subdue the colors of day
where shades of light permeate
the façade of all we believe.
in time
we recognize
the self
but seldom
the self
we recognize
in time
What is your writing process? How do you get from point A to point B to clicking the Publish button on the blog?
Here’s the process that helped me get back into writing poetry more consistently:
Week One: Write a poem every day. It doesn’t matter whether it is thirty lines or three. I just write and see what appears on the paper. No revisions. Once I finish, I don’t look at it again until the following week.
Week Two: Revisit each poem from Week One. I find that looking at a poem with fresh eyes helps me spot a line that I don’t like or find a better way to say what I was thinking. In a sense, I lovingly shred each poem to pieces through revision and rewording. Sometimes it hurts, but it helps me create a better image in a poem.
I continue this process for several weeks, and then look back at what I think is “finished” and revise again if necessary.
How about you?
one more stone then crush
his eyes open and light falls
on fields he once knew
where wheat baked beneath
the sun and scent
harvest beckoned his all
now the daylight fades
and his body lies still
a silent crowd scatters
“arriving home” first appeared in Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review. Number 18, 2002
Also from Awaiting the Images
I stumbled upon a line in an old journal that has stumped me. I’ve tried working with it and just haven’t found the right words or image. So I’m going to leave it here, a starting line of sorts, for anyone interested in creating something from it. If so, I’d like to see what you make of it. Perhaps the line isn’t mine to finish and instead belongs to one of you.
be gentle to the shadows who bear the weight of all we’ve lost
the skeletons dress in suits
and sit around the board table
crunching numbers and dreams
A bow is drawn slowly across
a single string, and a sound
like vapor stretches through
the air. The heart quickens,
and there is a tightness
in the chest like the skilled
fingers pressing down
just enough to elicit longing
only music can awaken.
Words fade to a whisper,
eyes close, and then the flash
of that day in the woods
when all was motionless
sight and sound until the first
drops of rain began to rattle
against the dry autumn leaves.
From Awaiting the Images
The sea shells scraped the bucket
as we walked slowly from the shore.
The shock of the burning sand
quickened our pace, and we skipped
on tiptoes to escape the pain in our feet.
At some point we turned and ran
back into the ocean where it seems
we have waited hours for the sun
to spill its fire into the surging sea.
* From Awaiting the Images
Awaiting the Images 