Kel, push that quickfire out (oh those "contraction" flashbacks!)

My son's confirmation is right around the corner.  It turns out that October has been a crazy month for me too.  I really miss visiting all of you. I need to work on my lesson plan for this afternoon's religion class.  I'll see how much I get accomplished considering there are those cleaning fumes permeating the house as my burner gets cleaned right now.

Waiting outside Jillian's ballet class, I forced myself to get some kind of poem out. Here it is with all its rough edges.  At least, it's a start.  Thanks for reading!

"Cut It Free"

With laser precision

my eye of conquest

fathomed unsaid coiled

under layers of necessary

that gelled to clouds.

That lance of intent

burns hot through static

pulsing through repetition

sectioned a chisel

that shaped a willful hand.

When I write a poem, I stare off into the distance.  I'm sure some of the other dance moms were wondering if I was spacing out.  Anyway, I'm glad that I forced this one out in that 10 minutes. I need to get back on the horse.  It may be a rocky ride at first, but I'm sure I'll "be back in the saddle again." I couldn't resist that reference. My Dad loved those old cowboy movies. That line is for you, Dad.

When I have a good hair and voice day, you will see that promised karaoke vlog.  Jillian reminds me all the time.

Poetry, teaching, and finding that elusive piece of me

Running around like a crazy lady has kept me from my need to be creative. I worry that I have somehow lost my poetic "fire."  The words and images are not knocking on my door as often.  I need to slow my pace and listen for the Muse again.  This is a time when I could use a Thoreau type of retreat.  Well, I guess my deck will have to be my place away to think and create.  I feel those butterflies in my belly now as I fear that the poetry will stay away.  "Kelly on the go" really has to become "Kelly needs to reflect."

I don't want to lose that part of me.  I will mourn that loss.  The blog can become my forum again for the poetry. I just have to commit the time and clear my mind.  Now if only I could put a "Do Not Disturb" sign around my neck for 15 minutes...

On another note, I am enjoying my time as a volunteer religion teacher on Tuesday afternoons. I have a lively, enthusiastic class.  They like my out of the box lesson plans.  I wish that I also majored in education way back when.  I feel alive in the classroom.  My classroom management is probably a little too loose for some veteran teachers, but I think that the kids are engaged in the material. You all know that I throw in some comedy here and there.  Jillian is my little assistant teacher.  She gets a kick out of helping with the kids.  They all have adopted her as a little sister too.  She looks like a mini me when she uses my teacher gestures. 

A poem after playing with my sweet girl

I'm loving all that is beautiful in nature today with my daughter. If I allow myself to absorb the generous spirit of this earth, I think I can find "eagle wings" for my poetry to soar to new heights.


A Generous Muse

Arms raised to catch her
swirls of air dance around
as girl of curls slides down.

To be within my grasp
that natural energy
filling the air and her smile.

How my words may burst
through the quiet page
fueled by purity and light.

Caressed by a pasture
the poet's pen is the sky
each breath awakens.

Life builds within me
a sense of arrival
words to be born.

I didn't really work this poem. I let the words stand as they came to me. I want to keep the poem's energy as fresh as the experience that inspired it.

Take a deep breath outside today. You will feel good, I promise :)

Searching for poetry ideas

The beautiful Hudson River. This is a picture of the Hudson River viewed from the Bear Mountain Bridge here in NY. There are spectacular views of the river and landscape at all times of the year. (photographer unknown)

There are days when I feel like my poetry well is dry. I'm hoping to get a resurgence of inspiration over the next few weeks. It is a busy time in my house, but I fear that I will lose touch with those poems stirring in me if I don't allocate some time for writing and thinking. On my next day trip with the kids, I think I'll do a poetry scavenger hunt, and hopefully find some raw material to inspire me.

Jotting down ideas or thoughts in a notebook may be a good idea. I better not rely solely on my memory anymore :) Motherhood keeps my mind spinning in tons of directions. When everyone is happily sleeping at night, I can benefit from going over my notes and trying to work out some poems in a calm and peaceful environment. I've always been a note taker, so I feel comfortable with a pencil ready to record my observations. I just better remember to add it to my HUGE "what to take for the kids" list when we go out on a day trip.

Hopefully, this plan will help get me out of my poetry dry spell. Maybe I'll even get inspiration at the supermarket. Who knows? Happy Wednesday everyone :)

River of words
seep into me.
Images for thoughts
travel waiting.
Conscious net
immerse to find.
Poem unclear
reflects possibility.

Housework at night

I sit here at 9:45 p.m. and debate with myself: "Blog or dishes?" "Blog or laundry?" Blogging is becoming my favorite way to procrastinate :) Oh, how I wish I was Jeannie from "I Dream of Jeannie". Wouldn't it be great to blink those chores away? Here's a quick little poem sympathizing with all those evening mamas and papas who are finishing up their "busy work" before easing into hopefully a restful slumber.

Of course, until that cute, sleepy kid wakes you around 2 a.m. after a nightmare :)

Falling into Evening

Mama's losing count of dishes done,
Wrinkled shirts call for the iron,
Race cars trapped in seat cushions,
Storybooks need their shelves,
Unnoticed spills show up late,
Mama's hands run through her hair,
Quietly she arranges all again,
Arms full of the necessary,
Counting the minutes knowing,
Her ready book and comfy pillow awaits.

As I lift my head to peek in the kitchen, I secretly hope that those pots and pans cleaned themselves! Time to get on those flattering rubber gloves and tackle these dishes before I lose my chance to read my book. I hate falling asleep after only reading one page. Have a good night everyone!

Mom vs. Poet, Guess who wins?

Here we are at the last day of National Poetry Month. I feel good that I took the time to write several poems over these past few weeks. In this poem, I explore how the poet within me must defer to the mother within me. Being a mother is everything to me. The poet must wait in line after all my mama duties. That is the way it should be. Sometimes I fear that I will lose the poetic part of me because my daily responsibilities take up so much of my time, energy and spirit.

I'm glad that I let the poet out to "play" every once in a while!

Mama Always; Poet Visits

Feel blood race through systems.

Warehouse tools of self-construction.

Nurturing urge roars over ego whisper.

Spirit divided like Sunday pie.

Grab another rung of task ladder.

Child pushes child for position.

Eyes tear with exasperated sighs.

Maternal demand snuffs creative fire.

Mind challenges self to stand apart.

Roles cement over nightingale within.

Flames of first personhood flicker.

Forever mother stretches for next shift.

Poetry on the side

The more I grow as a poet; the more I see that I have a unique view of things. My loving family supports my creativity, but they don't necessarily want to engage in this kind of discussion or exploration. I know that poetry is not for everyone, but I see how it can be a very solitary experience. At times, that's o.k. Sometimes, it would be nice to look across the table and discuss what I'm trying to accomplish in my poetry. Well, I do have 4 kids. Hopefully, one of them will follow in Mama's footsteps :)

Who Hears Me?

Poetry awaits in me
to be viewed by some.
Those of my everyday
choose another window.
Wrenches my soul a bit
to be unseen by my loves.

Daily dance of topics
keeps happy home moving.
My life twirls through modes
as the poet awaits a partner.
Family and poetry dance
with receptive me in turn.

Thanks to all of you out there who seem to "get me" and my poetry! My husband is grateful that he is not my target audience anymore. You should have seen his face when I used to take a minute to share one of my poems. Deer in headlights!

A day at the park

Since April is National Poetry Month, here is my poem celebrating all those smiling faces at the park on beautiful spring days.

Play

Shades of sunflowers
color through corkscrew slide
as sneaker climbers rush
to tackle playground peak.

Flying ponytails and crooked caps
zoom past mama's eyes
as ball chasers zigzag
to get that last kick.

Pendulum swings creak

away with stretched legs
as flying adventurers
soar through a blue horizon.

Sitting on a bench at a playground brings you right back to those childhood days filled with laughter and fun. Though I have to admit, I don't get the chance to sit too often because I have to watch my playground acrobats closely. Band-aids in hand, even I go down the twisty slide sometimes. The kids would love it if I got stuck in the slide! That would be a sight for those parents on the bench.

Pen to paper

Sitting alone in her room, Emily Dickinson channeled her thoughts into her poetry. She didn't write for an audience. She poured all of herself into her poems. When the creative spark stirred her to write, Emily responded in her own quiet way. I think she was having her own inner dialogue as she crafted sharp, visual images to convey her thoughts about women, life, death, love, nature and God. Writing it all down through poetry on paper became her way to explore these thoughts creatively. The two sides of this poet, public and creative, coexisted amicably. Like a treasure, I think she probably enjoyed having this secret life as a poet. Her poems breathed on their own for her. She was an individual woman creating without any restraints on her art. No outside critic was allowed access to her poetry. Her poetry could stand free and pure on its own. Just as she intended.

I would like to share with you one of my favorite Dickinson poems.

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.

In the spirit of Dickinson, I have to remember to write for myself. I think my writing will have more authenticity if I worry less about pleasing critics or following current trends in poetry. I'm afraid to fall into the trap of looking at each poem as whether or not it is "worthy" of being published. Like Dickinson, I'll honor my one on one dialogue with my poems. I'll try and see where those thoughts take me from poem to poem.

The Housewife Poet

I have never officially called myself a poet. Writing poetry has always been a private activity for me. I rarely tell even my family about one of my poems. Writing poetry is such an individual, intimate experience. Most of the time, my ideas for a poem hit me spontaneously. No one really knows that I may be writing a poem at the kitchen table as my kids eat lunch. I think that I like keeping my poetry as my own little secret. It is not a conscious decision to hold my poetry so close. It may be my way of holding on to a part of me that is not wife or mommy. This poetic part of me brings peace to a usually hectic day. This poetic part of me brings clarity to a sometimes distracted perspective.

I claim to want to be published. But I have to wonder if I like being the only audience for my poems. I write out these poems like a personal diary filled with bits and pieces of me. Maybe that's why I feel protective of releasing them to others' scrutiny. Calling myself a poet sounds like a public declaration. Most of my day is about being a housewife/mother first. Poetry steps forward at times in my life. When that inspiration hits me, I respond. But I always circle back to caring for my children and home. So it may be fitting to think of myself as The Housewife Poet. Maybe it's not as regal as other poet titles, but it defines me right now.

Poem inspired by winter woods

BLUEPRINT

Through sheer curtain observe
beating wings pepper horizon.
Through stripped branches accept
invitation to behold a stenciled sky.

Shelve assumptions of inspired sources.
Stare through bones of landscape.
Allow delight in branched view.
Consume starkness with intent.

Skeletal beauty manifests post foliage.
Bold lines thread through sky canvas.
Absence of color challenges hesitant hand.
Worn brush seeds new life.

Stirred by the Snow

It is snowing outside my window. I love looking at the trees outlined in a thin layer of snow. An overall sense of wonder and calmness come upon me simultaneously while taking in this view. Soon my house will be filled with tons of energy and laughter as my kids get home early due to the snow. It is nice to sit here for a few moments and relax with my thoughts before my kid army "storms" the home front. When I'm looking for inspiration, nature often provides me with just the boost I need to get started. If I'm sitting at a bus stop waiting for my kids, I will try and find some little "muse" of nature, even if it is just a tattered little leaf hanging loosely off its stem. Somehow a thought or emotion will come over me and push me to write a few lines of a poem. I work hard to fit these moments for creativity in my busy day. Even if I'm the only one to read my poem, I have to make that effort to express what I'm feeling in a creative way. Sometimes I can feel that creative urge between something as routine as making sandwiches for the kids. Then I'll take a break to write a few lines on a napkin or scrap paper, whatever is handy. I don't want to lose those thoughts so I will stop for a moment to get those thoughts or images written down.

The snow is steady and quiet. Soon my home will be unpredictable and loud with the happiness of kids free from the classroom. Happy kids bring about their own kind of creative, poetic energy. Maybe I'll find my next inspiration for a poem watching my kids act "naturally".

Finding a Poetry Publisher

I like to write poetry at times. For me, I think that poetry is a good medium for my creativity. My two or three free verse poems often start with a sharp visual description which hopefully sparks some kind of intuitive response in the reader. I like to explore the power of a single word or string of words to give the reader an impression or personal recognition of an emotion or event.

Publishing my poetry does not come as easily as composing my poems. Even though I'm not sure if there is a definite audience for my poetry, I would be curious to venture out and see if there is any interest. Poetry is so subjective. I fear that each poetry editor can't help but evaluate poetry submissions through their own "poetic taste" lens. I know that I would probably fall into that trap too.

I joke with my kids that at least they will have my little book of poetry even if the rest of the world never sees it.

But I'll continue to try and find a magazine, periodical or editor who may see what I'm trying to convey in my poems. I hope to find other aspiring poets who can share their experiences and frustrations with publishing poetry.

A poem breathes even if only for the poet.