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Summer poem

Juice me

orange, pale green, red
the colors of summer fruit—
honeydew, cantaloupe, peaches
cherries, nectarines—
juice me, joy me
back to childhood
free of weight worries
sunny-long summer hours
fields and farm stands
where now the Staten Island mall
and boxy homes tower
and dwarf the stifled trees
Yesterday’s backyard
had tall maples and shade—
the shade of innocence

A very useful writing exercise is to pick 10 words at random, just as they pop into your mind.  Either alone or with a friend alternating picks.  Then write a short poem–the shorter the better–using the words.  It encourages novel word usage, combinations of words, etc.  You can use any form of the word, even a homonym if it works in your poem.

Here are some examples I’ve been finding in random notebooks:

The words:  blend, early, slant, neat, point, capture, hairpin, gray, float & eager

The poem:

Neat Capture

The hairpin point that early
springs the slanted gate,
lets blend the eager gray mare
with shadowed pastures
afloat with dew.

The words: mango, erect, spoon, piano, gray, terrible, ground, camera, sudden & sour

The poem:

Reluctant Grandma

His baby spoon in the piano clinked terribly
and nothing
would soothe the stain
of mango
ground into her rug

Sour and sudden, a gray smile flashed
as she stood erect for the camera

Tax Day coming up
First time married, filing jointly
Wow!
This is what it’s like to be a 100% citizen!
Thank you brave lady!

Early Warnings: Spring Joy

Green and sun-shy yellow daffodil shoots
Red haze of the branch tips
Must be…

Haiku

shorting days
blowing leaves drained of
suppleness

A New Poem

Waiting

Every day at work feels like Monday

the subway tunnel’s light

is green, but no train

DOMA is smashed

but no husband sits

at home

My pal, bound to bed

slowly improving, but

not fast enough for either of us

Mum’s days in year 97

confused and empty

no hope to dial back a memory

I’m exhausted from

the hollow

wait

An inspiration to all of us

Lightning Droplets

Notches on the bedpost - scratches on the back.

Earlier this summer, I was inspired by the devilish number 66 on a list of The 100 Best Ways to Become a Better Writer.  Rack up rejections.  The phrasing and sentiment behind the idea played over and over in my mind and I was captivated by it.  I started imagining pieces of my writing marching out into the world dressed to the nines in their Saturday night best, and returning home (accepted or not) to put another notch on the bedpost.  Perhaps they would have short-lived flirts with editors who didn’t want to take them home, or one night stands with litmags where they weren’t accepted but, hey, at least they were being read, even if only ephemerally.  Or maybe they’ll find the editors of their dreams and fall in love together, being read again and again, put into print to show the permanence of their mutual devotion.  In…

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