The only way it can be said

Sometimes poetry is the only way something can be expressed.  At least I have found that true in my own life.  There is something about the indirectness of poetic imagery, the way it mines elements from the subconscious that normally wouldn't be let out of its cell that makes what emerges extraordinarily powerful.  

I have missed poetry in my life, these past few months.  My poetry books are waiting in a warehouse along with all our other belonging, for the reconstruction on our fire-damaged home to be completed.  But that is not the only reason I have lost my connection to poetry.

I have been afraid of what would emerge if I let myself write. 

So I have cut myself off from reading, writing, or responding to poetry.  In the process, I have both let down a community I care deeply about and have lost a part of myself that I have desperately needed.

It's April.  National Poetry Month.  It's time to take a deep breath and let what needs air and sunshine bubble to the surface.

I am hoping to share the drafts of new poems written this month here with you. It is a way to re-commit to the act of writing poetry. It is also a way to step back from the perfectionist practices in my life. This is raw, first draft writing. It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't even have to be very good. It just needs to be written. And perhaps something I write will resonate with you, the reader, and you will write something in turn.

Unfolding

Fresh sheets always in the dryer, always
waiting for the door to open, waiting
to spill out on the floor of the laundry room.
White sheets on a dirt floor, indistinguishable
from the car wash towels, the dog
blanket, the once-white tube socks,
all uniformly gray. I try to bleach
my sorrow the color of boiled bone,
render it in the colander
of this grief. I lift the twisted mess
dripping grimy water
with the handle of a broom, snap
the wrinkles out of sheets
oblivion white. When I bury
my face to the folded stack
something still smolders.
--LJCohen, 4/1/11

Ah, Spring in New England

According to the weather report, it's supposed to snow this weekend. Well, that's the way Spring is in New England. The uncertain season.

In honor of the wonky weather that is Spring here, a poem written for one of Wild Poetry Forum's challenges.

Enjoy.

Storm Warnings
(after Rebecca Hoogs)

My dear, you are the meteorologist and I,
I am the weather, a cyclone churning off shore,
skipping across carefully plotted points
on well creased maps. To hell
with ratings and reputation. It's not
like you cause the tempest or the cold
shoulder, the run on milk and bread,
eggs. Still, it would always be best
if you waited for me to declare my intentions,
stick your head out the studio window
and agree. Yup, she's a doozy. That's right.
Right as rain. The rain I fell in
this morning while you flirted
with long range models, certain
tools in uncertain systems. No pressure,
but the superintendent's on the line, baby,
and my winds carry the fervent prayers
of schoolchildren everywhere, homework undone.
If you smile into the camera, bet
on a solid six to ten, I'll pout
and head off to sea or maybe just sit tight,
ignore the curses of weary plow drivers hours
from sleep and warmth, strand even you
at your desk. But once in a blue moon, I promise
to track exactly the way you expect.

--LJCohen

Wild Poetry Forum

Today's "NaPoMo" post is all about Wild Poetry Forum, my poetry home on the internet. While there are tons of internet sites and communities for poetry writers, I'd like to think Wild is a little special.

First, it's a large community and very active. This is good because you will get diversity in both the poetry posted, and in the kind of critique offered. If a community is too small, it can ultimately become narrow in scope, to the detriment of learning.

Second, it's a community of writers at varying developmental levels. Again, that's part of its diversity, but it also encourages a mentor relationship that develops among members. As members learn and grow, ones that have been mentored in this way go on to mentor others. This is a 'pay it forward' principle that works quite well at Wild.

Third, Wild is strongly moderated. We have a dedicated cadre of (volunteer) mods and admins who type their fingers off to make sure the board stays a safe, supportive, and challenging place for poets.

Forth, Wild has as part of its core mission to educate and nurture poets. To that end, we have weekly challenges and prompts, essentially a college class's worth of poetry goodness for anyone to take advantage of.

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, Wild has M at the helm and she is passionate about and dedicated to poetry. Wild wouldn't have come to be without her.

Spring is sprung. . .

Not really a sufficient post for my personal National Poetry month plan, but the beautiful day reminded me of an argument my husband and I have had going back nearly 30 years and it *is* related to poetry.

It's the little ditty that starts with "Spring has sprung."

*He* says it's:

Spring is sprung,
the grass is riz,
I wonder where
them flowers is.

Of course, I say:

Spring is sprung,
the grass is riz,
I wonder where
them birdies is.

Wait. Maybe I say flowers and he says birdies.

It's been so many years, I can't really remember.

Regardless, spring is definitely sprung, in this neck of the woods anyway. Get out there and enjoy. Maybe write some poetry.

NaPoWriMo

An offshoot of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month), where poets work to craft a poem a day during April.

I don't participate in either of these pressure-cooker challenges, but I am hoping to post something related to poetry daily during National Poetry Month.

For today's poetry related post, a few lines that came out of my morning musings:

This unwelcome push through softened soil,
this sudden riot of flash
mob flowers, this struggle
against the inevitability of seasons.

A fragment of what will possibly be a longer poem. Stay tuned.

6 months until Dodge!

If you're a poet, or if you love words, run do not walk to Newark, NJ on October 7-10, 2010 for the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival.

It has been described as Woodstock for Poets and has been happening every 2 years since 1986. 2010 was the year it almost didn't return.

But thanks to the passion and support of writers and lovers of words world-wide, Dodge is happening, albeit in a different venue.

I will be there all 4 days, this time around. I was fortunate to attend in 2004 and 2006, but was unable to swing 2008.

Will I see you there?

In Honor of National Poetry Month

I'll be posting links to poetry sites and thoughts about poetry and its place in day to day life during the month of April.

I thought I'd start out with one of my favorite resource sites, Poetry 180. Poetry 180 is the brainchild of former US poet laureate, Billy Collins. Originally intended for High School students (the '180' represents the 180 days of the school year, with a poem for each day), Poetry 180 is my recommendation of choice for folks who might be new to poetry, or who might be looking for a large survey of kinds of poetry to read.

Enjoy.

Happy Poetry Month.