sometimes the soul does not know
when it shatters. strewn about
like glass, existing but not whole.
light still shimmers through each
piece, and the beams are broken,
split into streams of infinite color.
prism
Tag: Creative Writing
Boxes
Now it is clear that he is
the object of his anger.
Never quite good enough
for attention or praise
from others or himself.
Enclosed in a small box
he peers through a tiny hole
at all that is marvelous
in the world, knowing he will
never be enough. Just beyond
what he can see, carefully
placed, are rows upon rows
of boxes whose captives stand
bewildered by the winter sky.
tranquility
the time spent
between planets
equals the space
between stanzas
worlds defined
by unseen action
engulfed within
soundless calm
within
the echoes are ghosts
wandering invisibly
through our souls,
the fading reminders
of what we once were.
Writing Process
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?
A Starting Line
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
Awaiting the Images 