Spring wind is chill today.
Words refuse to come out to play.
There seems to be nothing left to say.
It must be Monday.
The clock keeps ticking—no delay
The days creep on in their rigid array.
I will send my muse a fresh bouquet
for a better poem on Tuesday.
(Photo courtesy Pixabay.com)
The past few months of relative quietness here have been a period of thinking for me. I’ve asked myself, why do I do this–write, especially poetry? Why do I post it here? Do I want to keep doing this?
This June before holidays I lived under a cloud of particularly thick ennui. Maybe I should just stop writing altogether… but what would I do?
It has been good for me to ponder these questions.
In the beginning of August, after a great holiday (and a writing break) I felt revived but continued to wrestle with, what do I do in the fall with the poetry blog?
As a Christian, perhaps it was to be expected that I would need to get as close as possible to the bone in quizzing myself. The question that finally floated into my mind to help me sort through this is from the Shorter Westminster Catechism:
Q: What is the chief end of man?
A: Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.
In applying that Q&A to my situation I asked, would I be glorifying God if I stopped writing, that is, using the talent and expanding the skill and interest in words that is part of who I am?
Does it please Him when I squirrel away my writing in binders on the shelf? Do any of us have insights and realizations just for ourselves? Or are they given to bless and help others along the way? (Not that I ever feel that everything one writes needs to be shared!)
How can I better glorify Him with what I do?
Can I do that here?
How would it look?
I have decided as a result of introspection and prayer to be more open and candid about my faith in the poems I post here. In other words, in the days ahead you’ll find more poems that reflect my spiritual pilgrimage and beliefs. Of course I’ll also still write about nature and other topics that catch my fancy.
Enough philosophizing! It’s time for a poem. This is one I found in my binder, written a number of years ago.
Crow – Photo © 2015 by V. Nesdoly
Me: This lamp will be perfect for the table where my husband studies.
Clerk: What does he study?
Me: Uh, uh, …oh stuff.
He studies the Bible.
I know that.
It’s really the only thing he studies.
But did I say it?
No.
Automatically I veer toward cowardice.
My default setting: Be private about your faith
After all you don’t want to appear
odd, different or, heaven forbid,
be expected to explain!
On my way through the park
crows call triplet caws
and I hang my head
embarrassed, ashamed
robbed of excuses.
I will go
into my closet
and weep.
************
Added September 3rd: My Poetry Friday friend Margaret Simon invited me to join in on “Spiritual Journey Thursday” hosted by Holly Mueller at her blog Reading, Teaching, Learning where this week’s theme is “paying attention.” Thank you, ladies! I hope you teachers don’t mind being joined by an ex- who has been away from the classroom lo these many years, but who is still trying to pay attention to what God is teaching her.
Shredder fodder – Photo © 2015 by V. Nesdoly
© 2015 by V. Nesdoly (All rights reserved)
**********
Someone has dubbed today “Poetry-at-work Day.” I’m good with that. In fact, every day is a good day to blend poetry with work in my books.
“January day” is the product of a new poetry practice I began last summer after being inspired by the tanka in a Dawson Creek park.
Mine are a cross between a journal entry and a poem in this five-line form. I call mine “tanka-type” poems because I usually title them (traditional tanka don’t have titles). This may be the first one of these I’ve posted here.
To bring poetry into my work every day my goal is to write one of these every day, although I don’t usually live up to that and am happy when a week yields two or three. I wrote today’s (a reflection on last night’s file-cleaning) this morning before I even realized it was Poetry-at-work Day.
To see more poetry at work, check out #poetryatworkday on Twitter. Find out about the origin of the day and download some goodies including a book written especially for it at Tweetspeak Poetry.
Rectangles and lines of nonfiction
diagonal, horizontal, vertical paragraphs
of roof, window, drainpipe
Venetian sentences
just a little off
with the siding
(a bit of parallelism
would even that out)
Eave trough
is a green algae poem
(if my window opened
on the near side
I would revise it
with a long-handled mop)
Only movement
commas, colons and periods
dripping from the greasy shingles
and once in a while
dropping in to visit
fantasy crow
or jeweled pigeon
from a novel setting
************
Today is Poetry at Work Day! I’m celebrating it by re-posting this poem about the view from the room in which I work (our townhouse’s third bedroom that has been my office from the day we moved here). My view isn’t particularly inspiring. My window faces another building. The window just across from mine, judging from the pink curtains, is the bedroom window of our neighbours’ five-year-old daughter. From time to time the blinds open and and then they close but not much else goes on.
However, I am thrilled to have my own room in which to write, despite the lack of an exciting view.
*****************
How are you celebrating Poetry At Work Day? Need some inspiration? The Infographic below (captured from this page at Tweetspeak Poetry) will give you some ideas! Have a wonderfully poetic day, wherever and whatever your work!
Poetry At Work Day Infographic from Tweetspeak Poetry.
“Too busy, too tired” – a slide from my talk “Breaking the Silence”
I plod toward the culmination
of a summer of study and planning
lugging a stone-boat
of handouts, lessons and lectures.
Responsibilities blinker me
from distraction.
Urged and directed
by the reins of conscientiousness
it’s Giddy-up and Go
till November
when, unbuckled
from this harness
I again get to frolic
in the meadow
of carefree imagination.
*****************
I have spent much of the summer getting ready for fall. I’ve been preparing to deliver two poetry workshops at an end-of-September writing conference and at the same time reworking a series of eight lessons for our church’s Wednesday morning for women.
Though I have been a classroom teacher in the past, I haven’t taught much lately and I’m rusty. Ratcheting up the tension for me this year is that I have made Keynote (Mac version of PowerPoint) presentations for each session. That’s ten Keynotes! Trouble is I’ve never used such a presentation before in a class, neither do I have my own projector so I can’t even practice with the technology.
I’m not complaining… really! Doing this teaching is a wonderful way to stretch and grow my skills. But one thing I find hard to do while focusing on these assignments is to give myself to creativity. Because when I do, I so easily get lost, lose track of time, slow down, get behind. So I’m trying to enjoy this season and looking forward to the time when my on-top-of-things teacher-role will be finished and I can again be the absent-minded writer.
This post is linked to Poetry Friday. It’s hosted today by Jen at Teacher-Mentor Texts.
Back
“Writing a poem…is a kind of possible love affair between something like the heart (that courageous but also shy factory of emotion) and the learned skills of the conscious mind.” Mary Oliver
Poetry, I’m back
and sorry I missed our rendezvous
all these May mornings
forsook you for Twitter
Facebook, email, hotmail
Are you mad?
Feeling jilted?
Regretting all the times
you gave it up for me
during our April trysts?
I guess I needed a break
from our hot-and-heavy
so without telling you
without really knowing
that I was doing it
I stayed away…
But I’m back
feeling lonely, guilty
tentative but resolute
though hesitant
to make glib promises
Can we talk?
***********
I know it’s been mighty quiet on here. A break from poetry seems to be the way I recuperate from the April’s National Poetry Month binge of poem-writing. I wrote this poem in May of 2009. It seems history repeats itself this way each year.
I’ve also been busy working on other aspects of writing. In a few weeks I’ll be attending a writer’s conference in Ontario. Somehow getting myself organized for something like that and writing poems doesn’t fit together.
I do have a few new poems online, though, and my own page at VerseWrights. The webmaster there, Carl Sharpe, is most welcoming. So if you’d like to join the VerseWrights poets, why don’t you explore the site and send him an email?
Oh, and one more bit of good news. I entered the 2013 William Henry Drummond Poetry Contest a few weeks ago, and got a lovely email on Mother’s Day, telling me one of the pieces I submitted had won Honourable Mention. “Forest Fire Roundel” will be included in the organization’s 2013 Anthology. (I’ll post it online after the book is published.)
Till next time inspiration hits…
i
this is a poem about the last page
a poem about feeling panicked
a poem about lists
this is a poem about shopping and tired feet
about choosing the right card
then signing your name 47 times
a poem about wrapping paper, tape and ribbon
this is a poem about putting up lights and garland
bells and wreaths, while playing old records
a poem about finding mom’s recipe
and buying butter – for baking!
this is a poem about feasting
this is a poem about getting around
to reading the familiar story and wondering
how did something
that started out so simple
get to be so complicated?
this is a poem about Christmas
ii
this is a poem about hearing the songs
of baby Jesus, at the mall
and having the urge to go
and sing them to all your neighbors
this is a poem about the magic
of blinking lights, toy trains
and sipping a cup of warm cocoa
while you visit the Holy Family
come to your cul-de-sac
this is a poem of when home
is the only place to be
even if the tree is small, the gifts few
and your house is crowded as a Bethlehem street
this is a poem about candlelight and sweet carols
in a place where simple gowns and sequin crowns
transform even urchins and scamps
into shepherds, angels and wise men
this too is a poem about Christmas
© 2009 by Violet Nesdoly
********************
I wrote the first stanza of this poem quite a few years ago as a verse to put inside a Christmas card to my neighbour. But I never sent it, thinking it sounded too whiny.
It was published about a year later (first stanza only, called ‘this is a poem’) in an anthology called Celebrating the Season 2001 – (Essence Publishing, 2001).
When I submitted it to another Christmas collection a few years later, the editor said it was too negative and suggested I write a second stanza, highlighting a more positive aspect of Christmas. That wasn’t hard to do – and so we had what I called ‘this is a poem 2.’ I believe the poem (both stanzas) eventually made it into that collection, though I never got a copy so am not sure. (Then last year it was published in a little devotional magazine called Rejoice under its present title “Two Poems about Christmas.”)
I submit it to Poetry Friday (hosted today by the very talented teacher/poet Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe) with Merry Christmas wishes to all who read here!
Bathtub is the perfect place
wash your elbows, hair and face
When the shower lever’s on
grit and sweat are quickly gone
You could also use your tub
wash your puppy or your cub
Fill with water and it floats
fleet of origami boats
Giant vat for washing blinds
stamping grapes and making wine
Soak your dirty pots and dishes
Make a home for tropic fishes
When you know without a doubt
bathtub’s wrecked and all worn out
trash truck loads it with a thump
takes it to the local dump
for retired tub retool
mouse’s rink or swimming pool
– Violet Nesdoly
****************
I wrote this poem a few years ago in response to a writing prompt. It’s fun to compose ode-like verses about objects. I was going to do a whole series, but never got past writing three or four. (Oh well, at least I have those few!)
This poem is submitted to Poetry Friday, hosted this week by the lovely Betsy at Teaching Young Writers. Oops a correction… hosted by the über-talented Amy at The Poem Farm.
I’ve been keeping up with the November Poem-A-Day poetry prompts at Poetic Asides. Yesterday’s was “Talk back to a dead poet. Choose a poem you like by a poet who is no longer living and offer a rebuttal.”
I chose the poem “Leisure” by W. H. Davies (1871-1940).
Here is the original:
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
– W. H. Davies
My talk-back poem is more a reflection than a rebuttal. Some days I’d definitely prefer Davies’ brand of leisure. But, then, who can entirely resist ‘progress’?
I think I’ll pass on woods and grass
if my connection’s nice and fast.
Ignore lithe Beauty’s dancing feet
as Google serves me sure and fleet.
Watch girl in sidebar smile or scowl
and not that pensive sheep or cow.
See YouTube arrow turn to bars
instead of watching squirrels and stars.
The stream of stars that I prefer
Netflix delivers all the year.
What good is life and what’s it worth
without the time to sit and surf?
– Violet Nesdoly (November 8, 2012)
*****************
I’m offering this poem to Poetry Friday, hosted this week by the dauntingly clever Ed DeCaria. Come on over to Poetry Friday: Findability, Discoverability, and Marketing to sample dozens of poetic offerings from the Kidlitosphere and beyond.
this is a poem about the last page
a poem about feeling panicked
a poem about lists
this is a poem about shopping and tired feet
about choosing the right card
then signing your name 47 times
a poem about wrapping paper, tape and ribbon
this is a poem about putting up lights and garland
bells and wreaths, while playing old records
a poem about finding mom’s recipe
and buying butter – for baking!
this is a poem about feasting
this is a poem about getting around
to reading the familiar story and wondering
how did something
that started out so simple
get to be so complicated?
this is a poem about Christmas
this is a poem about hearing the songs
of baby Jesus, at the mall
and having the urge to go
and sing them to all your neighbors
this is a poem about the magic
of blinking lights, toy trains
and sipping a cup of warm cocoa
while you visit the Holy Family
come to your cul-de-sac
this is a poem of when home
is the only place to be
even if the tree is small, the gifts few
and your house is crowded as a Bethlehem street
this is a poem about candlelight and sweet carols
in a place where simple gowns and sequin crowns
transform even urchins and scamps
into shepherds, angels and wise men
this too is a poem about Christmas
© 2009 by Violet Nesdoly
********************
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Violet Nesdoly / poems 