Even if I was bad at math (I’m not), with 61 days remaining this year, I have written more than 300 poems during 2019, beginning with my commitment on New Year’s Day. Writing at least one poem each day has been more of a learning experience than I expected. Originally, I thought it would be difficult but fun, and it has been, but I wondered if I could manage it every day for a whole year.
An unintentional consequence has been that I read much more poetry and I’ve bought more poetry books this year than ever. I’ve also become comfortable trying to write a poem about anything at any time. Sometimes I have no idea where it will go—I just sit down and write. A poem happens (no claims for first draft quality).
I’ve written around the clock. With my pen or laptop at my fingertips, I have composed poems during the wee hours after midnight, before dawn and at sunrise, before and after breakfast, at mid-morning with coffee, while dropping crumbs of my lunch onto my poesy, before and after dinner and while drinking wine or coffee (sometimes too much).
I’ve written them in the car as Yolonda drove, in coffee shops (alone or with groups), at meetings, on my back porch, in other people’s back or front yards, in my daughter’s kitchen, and in every room of our house except the garage and bathrooms (but I should, right?). Using sights or happenings for prompts, I composed while cooling my heels in waiting or examination rooms, while sitting, standing, or on the lie. I have composed mental poems that are never written down, but they don’t count.
Except when I use prompts, like Sammi’s weekender, at writer’s group meetings, or during NaPoWriMo in April, topics are virtually random thoughts or events. Billy Collins even wrote a poem about people telling him there’s a poem in that. I try to write as soon as a thought occurs to me.
I’ve now happily welcomed poetry as the biggest part of my writing life, with encouragement from friends, family, readers, and other poets/writers.
The titles of the 31 poems I wrote each day during October were:
- Hard Times Were Had by Us
- Shots and Jabs
- Choose Your Role
- Old Feelings
- I Need an Answer
- Haven
- We’re Number Two
- Old Man in My House
- Music in Me
- CSL (Clive Staples Lewis)
- Projects
- Irreplaceable Love
- Relief Strategy
- Too Much
- Fallen Pride
- Debatable
- Art in Us
- Your Own
- Where Goes the Candlelight?
- Aurora
- Oldies
- Risk & Danger = Life
- My Lucky Tree
- I could have been a Poet
- Road Trip Pits
- Saturday at Dawn
- The Sunday Marathon
- On Raising Teens
- Open
- It’s All Just Stuff
- Times Around
Trust no one.
Look both ways on one-way streets.
Mind the gaps with a skeptic’s crown.
Being an Ex-Pat New Yorker, Oh yeah, “One way” street is merely a suggestion to certain folks…
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“Merely a suggestion” — love that!
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Congrats on another month of poetry! It seems you’ve been bitten by the poetry bug 🙂
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Thanks, Sue. Yes, to put mildly, bitten. I am not alone. 🙂
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