Category: A New Poem Every Morning

The Voyage

lindastudley7 Comments

What is a year but an unwieldy barge
that drifts on a river of dreams?
What is desire but a broken oar
that we use to stem the stream?

What are words but a patchwork sail
that occasionally catches a breeze?
What is hope but a tattered chart
of strange, exotic seas?

But the river is wide, and I’ll sail my barge
I’ll ply my oar, and search my charts,
I’ll raise my sail at each passing wind
and if I see you flounder, friend,

I’ll heave to and lend a hand
and together we’ll set sail and
disappear into the setting sun,
Until another year is done.

#366

Apocalyptic Epiphany

lindastudley1 Comment

Global Apocalypse?
We joke, draw silly cartoons, we know
that the idea is unscientific.
Ludicrous at worst.

And yet
we devote time, energy and creativity to explore it,
discuss it, laugh at it, do everything but ignore it.
And yet

All over the world
someone stands alone, outside of it
while they experience their own
Personal Apocalypse.

 

#365

First Steps for Editing (not a poem)

lindastudley3 Comments

I’m only two poems away from the year’s worth of poetry and I’m not kidding myself that they are all worthy of a place in the final book. So now it’s time to start editing.

I saved all my poems in a single word document and I know that the formatting is going to be drudgery because I got into the habit of hitting ‘shift-enter’ to go to a new line so the spacing would be right on the wordpress blog. Unfortunately what that does is futz with the spacing in the word document. But that’s a fix for nearer the end – no sense in formatting a poem that ulimately won’t be in the book, right?

So the first step is to go through the document (all three hundred and Lord knows how many pages) and start cutting. I have no idea how long that will take, but I think I’ve figured out how to set the bar. A couple of times I’ve wandered back and taken a cursory look at some of the poems I’ve written over the last year and I find that on some I will read the poem and think “Hmm, that’s not half bad.” I’ll be keeping those. Most of the ones that elicit a groan will not make the final cut, guaranteed. The ones written as therapy will probably not find their way into the book either.

I want the poems in this book to be ones that can stand on their own – that have something unique to say.

I have considered calling the book “The Best of – A Poem a Day for a Year” but it felt like the emphasis was too much on the editing process (best of) and the sheer numbers (366 days in the leap year) which is not really what I want to highlight.  However, the influence of having to write something every morning can’t be completely overlooked – that imperative has helped me develop my writing skills.

I am leaning towards calling the book after one of the poems… “Falling Awake” because somehow it feels like that’s what I’ve been doing with this project – falling awake to the possibilities, the influences around me, the feelings and emotions within me. So maybe “Falling Awake  –  The Best of the ‘Poem a Day for a Year’ Project” would be appropriate.

As always I welcome any and all comments or suggestions (and if anyone knows a publisher who publishes poetry – let me know!)

Sincerely

The poet at the bottom of the well…

Winter Solace

lindastudley1 Comment

Winter’s getting really bad
when your houseplants die of SADs
and you leave on all your lights
to deny the longest nights.
But soon there’ll be a little ray
of hope to brighten up our day
cause once the longest night is done
we’ll start to see more of the sun.

#362

It’s the End of the World Again

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Calendars are tricky things
they habitually pull the wings
off our days and stuff them in
a nasty little cage.

Cages stacked four or five high
all cramped and crowded, side by side
assigned a number and  divided
into different pages.

We cross them out and tick them off,
place cryptic notes within the blocks,
And watch them like slow moving clocks
where minutes move like hours

Admiring their reliability
we cede to them responsibility
to direct our brave futility
with their pedantic powers.

But calendars are simple drones
They have no power of their own
Even if they’re carved in stone
By enterprising Mayans.

So make your plans and don’t loose sleep
Just count, and do not join, the sheep
time is precious, talk is cheap,
tomorrow will be fine.

#361

Now What? – Not a Poem…

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Now What?

As of Dec 24th I will have hit the elusive 366th poem in 366 days! Something to be proud of numerically at least. But I hope that within that deluge of literary litter there may lurk enough “good” poems to equal a reasonable book of poetry. I won’t be writing a poem on Christmas morning – not on purpose anyway – and I’ll probably take a little down time after that (possibly a day or two).

What then?

Editing. May not sound really exciting, but I’m going to share my experiences with the editing process. (You know I’ll post new poems too – I’m too compulsive to completely let go of the writing process while I’m editing). My objective in writing a poem a day for a year was to short circuit the inner critic and I think, on the whole, I’ve accomplished that. I’ve managed to crank something out EVERY day even if it wasn’t exceptionally inspired. Those of you who have been subjected to haiku written five minutes before I had to leave for work will attest to my tenacity and willingness to share my mediocrity as well as my strokes of (clears throat and blushes modestly) genius. Well the objective now is to accept and, dare I say it, enjoy the process of editing. I believe that editing can be as creative and rewarding a process as writing and I’m going to explore it (but I sure hope it doesn’t take a whole year!).

And Then What?

From there I’ll be exploring options for publishing. Amazingly, there are no publishing houses beating on my door insisting on publishing my humble book of poetry. Ah well, I guess I’ll just have to do it myself. And there’s another journey. I imagine that I’ll be writing about the research I’ll end up doing to get the book printed and distributed. A subject that could be quite dry unless I keep my rather odd sense of humour about it all – which I certainly intend to do.
So here we go, the final week of the “Poem a Day for a Year” series of self inflicted foolishness.
I will write you more poems.
I promise.
And songs too and maybe even paint you some pictures.

Love to you all

Linda

What Makes Christmas

lindastudley4 Comments

I remember contentment on Christmas day,
a calm in the midst of life’s storm.
And I’ve heard people say that it’s harder to find
that peaceful place anymore.

And I think that it’s time we stopped looking so hard
for the magic that lives in us all
and it’s not in the eggnog or gifts ‘neath the tree
or the ivy boughs decking the hall.

I think that it’s time we stopped trying so hard
to orchestrate Christmas each year
instead of listening to the single notes
the contented people hear.

Cause it’s not what we bring to Christmas
from anywhere outside
it’s what we bring of ourselves to the ones we love
that makes it Christmas time.

#360

Wheedlers

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Is there anything needier than a simpering wheedler?
Who just took their best smile off of the shelf
then brushed off and pasted it onto their face,
No thoughts in their heads except of themselves.

There are all kinds of losers but the saddest are users
who think everyone is just waiting their chance
to be called on for favours like personal slaves
they call the tune and expect us to dance.

But eventually those who always suppose
that our life’s work is only to make their life easy
will find that their ‘friends’ have discovered the ends
of their ropes and finally caught on to their wheeze.

Once bitten, twice shy, and oh, my oh my,
be prepared to see doors close on that phoney smile
true friends only meet on two way streets,
the user moves on, never understands why.

#359