write more poetry on a regular basis

This goal has been Successfully Manifested -!

:D

It’s now been 14+ months since the Poetry Writers group i created really took off, and has continued going strong! I’ve been so happy; we’ve got a good tight group of serious writers, who each bring wonderful qualities to our monthly meet & critique. We create a monthly “challenge” or poetry prompt for everyone to write a poem from,,,,,and i have successfully been meeting that personal challenge each time. Also, as i have the disipline of ‘1 poem deadline’ each month, it follows that the ccreative juices are further stimulated, and i often start or complete another 1-3 poems each month, depending. ‘Which is the whole trick of being a writer -_ To write and write and write, keep that creative muscle limber, toned & Buff!

I wont bore everyone with postings of all my poems ( they all still need polishing), but here are the titles of everything i’ve created over the past year:

• Quadriga
• Never the Night Before
• Caesura in my Thirties
• Vino Blanco Rapt
• The party
• Homebound in the Guggenheim
• Doorways
• A Poetry Reading in Venice
• Scenes of Unimportance
• and the streetlamp’s still on
• Reading in Retrospect
• Frames
• in my bed…
• Peppermint Gates
• to Fling
• the Classics
• Stillborn mother father
• Sfumato

_{(woo hoo! prolific writing again!! big yay!)}

:D

I have gradually slowed down posting online. You diminish your chances of getting published if you “self-publish” online, to an extent, anyway. Posting online is something you want to do in moderation, to raise some publicity for yourself. But don’t rely on it.

....that i Have been doing this lately,,,,just havent been writing any entries about it

My poetry group has taken off, at long last….since my poet pal signed on as co-organizer, and we gained the addition of a very talented writer named Sarah. Our “challenge pieces” have been going great—we had a lot of laughs over the last meeting sharing our attempts, and chatting about the difficulties….

It is so good to be in a working writers group again !

Here’s one i’ve been working on:

~ ( remember, its a draft still…)

Doorways

The problem with opening old doors
is not knowing what you left locked behind
How noisily the doorjamb will squawk, how dank
the smell of lovewords still in the air,
How much garbage has piled up through the years
haphazardly poised to fall on your head:
Like Fibber McGee’s closet
—comical only to listeners

The problem with opening old doors
is not knowing who waits on the other side.
Like that tacky Mystery-Date game of childhood:
the handsome football prince turns wife-beating toad
The geek you ignored morphs into philanthropic Gates

When you cant see what’s expected
on the other side
when someone new rattles the doorknob:
those Stephen King feelings never leave you

The problem with opening old doors
is forgetting how many boards you’ve nailed across
and you’ll lose time searching
for crowbars, hammers,
or an old saw of pathos
The doorjab swells and sticks
at the bottom, where like a sap you think —This is The One !
How mundane knights grow bored with melodrama
How rusting hinges are not your best feature.

But,
when you’ve dropped by on smoky fall evenings
& stood on the stoop outside my door,
The slope of your shoulders in your navy wool coat
is suitable raiment for me,
& not all chance is lost. In the pale orange twilight
I try not to consider your eyes—it’s enough to intoxicate.
Yet as you stand there, jingling your keys
my silly heart leaps, like dog
long shut up & denied a walk:
Oh yes
take me, take me, take me~

i love “Seaborn”’s words on this:

Working, Writing, Harvesting Words

thats the true language of a working poet, and what i aspire to…the best poets i know find ways of crafting language in fresh & revelatory ways…

my favourite poem of Richard Wilbur’s goes, in part:

”...The Hills are Heavens full of branching ways
Where star-nosed moles fly overhead the dead;
I said, the trees are mines in the air, I said
See how the sparrow burrows in the sky!

...To a praiseful eye
Should it not be enough of fresh and strange
That trees grow green, and moles can course in clay,
and sparrows sweep the ceiling of our day…”

_{(ahhhh, love it, love it, love it…!)}

If you could but see
the way my brother, with ease,
destroys aliens.

They fall like cherry
blossoms under hot plasma.
Such skill! Such control!

Winter: the old bridge.
See! Rocket launcher fires!
It’s snowing toothpicks.

The

Slightly dissonant yet
elegant, mincing
music of the
boy genius

allows
my mind to flow
easily
like an Amazon
of rivers

Towards your
poetic loveliness;
oceanic in scope
and quietly encompassing—
like an oboe solo.

We’d mingle
like mer-people out
there, in all that desert
of salt water, the waves snapping
like strings pizzicato.

Okay, so we
could play tag
and hide and seek:

I’d ask the squid
if they knew where
you were and you’d
hide in the kelp amongst
cellos and violas.

via someone else’s 43T page, i found a link to an interactive poetry critique site…can download your own poems, and comment on others, while receiving critiques on your own….much better than those “Insta-Publish” sites i cant stand. And then i even got inspired to extemporaneously write a poem & enter it into one of the online contests for “points”...so cheer that i might win!

(at least it got me to write one…!) :D

you can view my site at:
http://allpoetry.com/poets/violetmyst