Writing is a delicious agony.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I have been participating in the February peace poem postcard project (sending out 28 peace poems). I don't know how those of you who do a finished poem a day (for a month or even a YEAR!!) have managed it. So impressed! It makes me more comfortable to let ideas gestate, let drafts sit, etc. and there's no time for that. Also, I can't seem to control what I write about. The following isn't a peace poem so I am not sending it to anyone:
photo by Fisherga
Milkweed in winter
Empty cradles swing
And here's one that counted as a "peace poem" but might make you wonder whether I have a good understanding of what that means:
The Peace of Angry Rivers
by Tabatha Yeatts
Angry rivers tumble over themselves,
reveal their bubbling underbellies
They froth at the mouth, hold nothing back,
smash rocks as though they were the hard ones.
Their water, riled and surging with mud,
promises there's nothing to be afraid of now:
The rampage is here, you are it,
and you are riding it, and you can.
The fierce ride will subside after
all the waters are somewhere new
where they will still run, still reflect
the sun, still carry a world of life within.
That poem was inspired by my daughter Ariana, who had to use an EpiPen for the first time this month, something she had been dreading.
(Now that I re-read the milkweed poem, I'm wondering if it is similar to someone else's?)
Life on the Deckle Edge has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Robyn!