Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Things, people, and poetry

It's been quiet here on the blog for the past few weeks. I wish I had some glamorous reason for that, but I don't -- just many small but pressing tasks that have kept me from sitting down and posting. Things like
  • marking assignments
  • getting things ready for my spring-summer online course
  • renewing my health card
  • taking kids to the dentist and other places
  • going to parent-teacher interviews 
  • gathering records and reports for a big appointment in May
  • trying to get our leaking dishwasher fixed (what a "comedy of errors" that has been for the last month or more!)  
It hasn't all been mundane chores, though. I connected with some old and new friends; I went to meetings of my book and writing groups and church groups; I attended the memorial service for a close friend's father; I went to a concert and a seminar on anxiety and a poetry reading. I enjoy talking (and listening) to compatible people about interesting ideas, and I've had many opportunities for that in the past few weeks.

And though I haven't been blogging, I have been working on my writing -- specifically my own poetry-writing. I found an excellent book in the library called The Art and Craft of Poetry by Michael J. Bugeja, and I've been using what I've learned from it to go back and revise old poems.

Since spring is supposed to be FINALLY here this week, after a short-yet-tenacious winter, I thought I'd share this poem that I wrote about a year ago. I really enjoyed experimenting with the shape, the words, and the emotion of it.



The last time I walked this way, the ground was covered with snow.
Weeks of cold had hardened the surface so that my boots made no impression. 
The sun shone, but its glare seemed brittle and thin,
Its efforts futile against the snowbanks’ glacial permanence. 
And I felt a wintering chill press upon my soul as well, 
Numbing every thought into a solid drift of resistance.

But today the ground yields underfoot as I walk this
Same yet different
road. Banks that looked impermeable are
now porous,
granular, no match
for the sun’s warmth. they must
know it too
the way they shrink timidly
back from the edge 
of the path

likewise my
melts with every
step each squish
of boots in thawing
earth each soft
slow sign


  1. Oh, Jeannie. What a beautiful poem. Here in Dallas, spring seems slow in coming. I was in Albany over the weekend, COLD, and now it seems we brought cool, cloudy weather back down south with us. You've been busy. I wish you success on your writing projects and new class starting soon.

    1. Thanks, Betsy. By the way, that was really neat about your tour of the Culinary Institute. What a great time that must have been.

  2. Beautiful poem, Jeannie. I could feel the warmth of the sun melting all the frost away as I read it.

    1. Thanks, Tim -- that's what I was trying to accomplish!


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