The poet sits in the tall grass.
Wind here. Wind there.
A shelter from the wide world
At the desk. In the chair.
The cursor blinking its impatience.
What’s next? What’s next? What’s next?
A Fluid Language Of Code
Sometimes my brain thinks in poetry. It’s weird. It’s like a fluid language of code in watercolor painting my experience in a moment. I always wonder if people just shrug their shoulders and move on. Or if someone actually conjures a mental picture that hearkens to an experience of their own. Probably both are true.
There are times when I sit down to write and there is so much turning over in my head that I can’t quite put my finger on the one thing I want to say. If I sit with it too long, inevitably a poem will pop out. It’s like how we used to put pennies into gumball machines and turn the little crank until bloop! A gumball! Except, bloop! A poem.
A lot of the time I feel like it doesn’t make any sense. Or, wouldn’t make sense to anyone else but me. It’s a definite insecurity. And it’s not like I know any poets to be able to ask or talk about it.
This is all relevant to me right now because I have gathered up a collection of my poems from years past. This year I will be going through a process of learning to stitch wings on them that they might fly off to have their way in the world. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not quite sure just yet how to start.
It’s an act of vulnerability for me. I have a visual image of myself stepping into a new space. One baby step, stop, look both ways. One more baby step, stop, look both ways. At this rate it could take my lifetime, except that I know the time is now. Or at least very soon. (Stop. Look both ways).
Trying new things is weird. As an introvert, I like to spend a long time watching. Then another long time calculating. The best possible case scenario for me is to get everything all figured out then present it perfectly. Bloop! A nice little book of poetry.
I have spent a lifetime watching, in the way of reading poetry and writing it for lack of any other expression that makes sense to me. These poems of mine that are ready to fly into the world have earned their moment. Years of waiting, healing, resting.
Courage To Fly
We aren’t doing ourselves any favors holding back the parts of us that are asking to fly. We need each other to be brave. Courage is so inspiring. When I see someone shine, it makes me want to shine too.
So, today as I’m taking steps to learn how to publish a book of poetry, I invite you to investigate that little flutter of movement tucked into your own heart. What is it in you that’s asking for wings?
If you like poetry or you don’t, if you’re ready to shine or contemplating it, let’s be friends~