Teachings from Writing Poetry Every Day for the Month of April

this week’s photo was taken by Jupp

Day 22

I add random verses to yesterday’s poem. Musings on knitting, missing my mother and sensations picked up by my nose and ears and eyes and skin come together for this poem. Who knows, maybe it will be two poems in the end. Fraternal twins. The one hiding behind the other, the second heartbeat a surprise upon its discovery.

Well, at night I am moving the verses around and it’s just one poem after all. Its twin was just an illusion. I simply had to remove some verses.

Poem The Crones Speak

Day 23

Returning to the words every day builds trust.
I am less anxious to find emptiness. Now I know that the words will be rich when I let go of all my expectations. Some days bring ideas, which is half of the process. Other days I have a hard time to keep up with the words. But they are always there. Always. Waiting to enrichen my inner landscape.
Pebble River Writings turns seven months today! Or at least, September 23 was the day I published my first blog post.

Day 24

We are driving to the ranch for some much needed time in the saddle. Fortunately, Hermine also likes Florence and the Machine and we are listening to the album Ceremonials. Her words strike a cord in my heart. Grief awakes. I cry without anyone noticing.
In the afternoon, I write a poem.

Poem Grief

Day 25

We spend the day at Jalama Beach. I find lots of sea urchins.
Back home, Jupp and I get into a silly fight. I am not ok. I write a poem, or at least the first draft. Later I will spruce it up. Now we talk.

Day 26

It’s the morning after a storm. The air clear and beautiful. A soft breeze catches in my hair and tries to set it loose. Words can be powerful. They can evoke an emotion or memory. I know it should be easy to return to last night’s poem, but I am not ready yet, emotionally. When the time is right, I will spruce up my poem.

Grief becomes less powerful when spoken/talked about. When I struggle, I tend to withdraw and constrict, which only makes it harder. But I am blessed with a partner who knows how to listen. So I cried a good cry on his shoulder. And he let me warm my hands in his armpits, something he let me do the night I knew he was my forever person.
Today I still feel raw, my eyelids still swollen.

Day 27

Sometimes, I write down an idea in a place that I have at hand, for lack of my notebook or phone. That rarely happens, but when it does I tend to forget the words. It’s usually a sweet surprise when I find these notes again. I found the following in the back of Creatrix by Lucy H. Pierce. It’s nothing fancy, but an image I still like.

It was a dark night,
as black as a raven’s feather,
a slight shimmer of purple and blue.
The night smelled like mystery.
And there she was.

Day 28

Today I can return to Sunday’s poem. Today I can edit it and put it on the blog.
We have also almost reached the month of May. Writing poetry every day for the month of April is coming to an end and I have mixed feelings about that. But more on that on April 30, when I will share my final reflections on this practise.

Poem Grief II