It's Poetry Month,

 Not A How Many Poems Can You Write in One Day Contest!

Best Intentions Sprinkled With Pollen and Balloon Shards

Weekends, children, and allergies are not the ingredients of choice when trying to stick to a writing routine, especially when a double birthday, allergies, and deck painting are involved. That's my tightly packing, sneeze-filled--think I have bronchitis--just taught the nurse about Yiddish--excuse for the day. Say, I do believe I just resined a poem in that convoluted sentence!

So let's talk about personal experiences and poetry.  But first, I have to go teach a Children's Literature class on graphic novels. Be back soon.

I'm back.  Writing from life experiences can be cathartic, but it can also be difficult because you have the  lived the experience and may not know how much context to offer to make the experience relatable without using explanation.  Economy of language is essential in poetry, so that makes creating context even harder. 

For a compelling exploration on experience and poetry, take a look at Christina Pugh's essay, "No Experience Necessary"

From Experience Comes Confusion, Contemplation, Clarity

When you write about your own experience, you can often confuse your readers if you don't provide enough context.

Shouting "I hate Mr. Rogers" 

the girl said it all.

This actually happened as my best friend and I studied one night in high school, but it doesn't "say it all" or even enough to share the experience with outside readers.  Let's try that experience again with a little more context and see what happens.

Poem (9 of 30)

When you're blind

waitresses raise their voices when 

they get to your order

because they don't know

how to get your attention

When you're human

loud voices can be startling,

make you shrink

When you're blind

teachers tell themselves to slow 

down and explain things 

(read: "as if you're a child")

When you're human

patience sweetness is hard to swallow

when it's pitched to a six year old and 

you're old enough to go R rated

 So, homework before us,

legs crossed, directions recalled,

my friend, 

who came into this world without the benefit of eyes, 

throws back her head and yells,

"I hate Mr. Rogers!"

The king of patience,

the model of kindness

the "voice of childhood"

is an irritating echo in the

directions our English teacher offered

on our way out the door.

Wishing I had the clip of Mr. Rogers 

cursing a out my mother's favorite word,

"Shit"

as he pitched a tent.

I laughed, recalling our own collapsing 

attempt the weekend before

"He's cool." I said. "You just have to get to know

the whole person."

"You said it all," my friend replied.

I guess we did.

Here, I wrote a poem that contextualized the line and how the over kindness of teachers drove my friend to hate Mr. Rogers--no the man, but the voice that echoed in the instructions she received far too often from well-meaning people who saw her disability and over compensated, an issue I tried to bring alive for readers in the poem. 

Mining for a Poem

Now, let's try to mine my morning and an earlier sentence in this blog for a poem. I said, "That's my tightly packing, sneeze-filled--think I have bronchitis--just taught the nurse about Yiddish--excuse for the day" because one of the reasons I didn't write poems over the weekend was because I have seasonal allergies that often lead to bronchitis.  Trying to help my husband stain the deck in the great pollinated outdoors wasn't so wise an addition. When I went see a PA today, she prescribed a shot that it was the nurses duty to administer and it was delivered to my posterior. I mentioned that it had been a long time since I'd had to have one in my "tuchus" to which she replied, you're what?

And that's how I used a slang term for your backside to introduce a nurse to the language of Yiddish. If you're unfamiliar with the language, let me offer a definition from Omniglot.com Yiddish is a Germanic language with about three million speakers, mainly Ashkenazic Jews, in the USA, Israel, Russia, Ukraine and many other countries. The name Yiddish is probably an abbreviated version of ייִדיש־טײַטש (yidish-taytsh), which means "Jewish German".

And now for the poem (10 of 30)

When pollen makes your nose

imitate a sink with an eroding washer

And your throat becomes a slide

there's no hiding 

from the chest clenching cough

that makes sleep like the tissue

dropped on the table

blown out of reach by a hacking

reminder

that when the buds bloom

you're stuck behind glass

admiring

as your head starts to ache

But help is a 

office visit away

steroid shot in the tuchus

may indeed mean

you can return the gift

of open airways

in kindof

by telling the nurse about

Yiddish

a language

a way of life

a cornicopia of cultures opening up

one word at a time

like the capillaries in my 

bronchial tubes

the relief is overwhelming

I'm verklempt

 And now, because meeting call and I need to visit the pharmacy, I'm going to offer a few tidbit poems.

(11 of 30)

A candle burns

the room illuminated by sunlight

filled by shouts

mouths open

ready for cake

excitement cells fighting 

dust motes for space

a wish

suspended

stuck in the traffic

of anticipated sugar high

jack knifed 

by a truckload of impatience

she wishes for a wish

and blows!

(12 of 30)

How Many Six Year Old's Does It Take to Go to the Bathroom?

O if the show is on and cross legs will do the trick

1 if there's lima beans on my plate in the dog's outside

2 if a friends over after school and I have lip gloss to share

3 if it's a sleepover and all the guests I found the flashlight

4 if recess isn't over, but it's too cold to play

5 if it's a movie party and the scene's too scary

6 if it's a big stall at the circus and the clown car just came

(13 of 30)

As luck would have it

I needed a new bag

my strap broke mid dash for class

only thing that didn't spill out

where the bills that cling

to statement balance

making a 70 dollar replacement

a decadence

a triple-decker cake on a diet

But the tri-colored lilac can be eye candy

Thrifting to replace

the jeans the youngest of five

made holy on the 

church of the preschool playground

I see

hanging from a shelf

three shades of purple

like a canvas roll of candy

the bag

the three-decker cake I desire

is three dollars

What luck.

(14 of 30)

To do

to done

a "ta-dah" moment

I've never rightfully won

(15 of 30)

Tea

a leaf harvested 

worlds away

steeped in steamy surroundings

sipped

Set down

to scrawl out 

the next word

"global"

yet I covet my

comfort

my arm chair

cat hair covered

corner of the world

while tea leaves

turn sunward

in a place I'll 

never see

Until --Tomorrow?  I hope so.