The afternoon was typical Oregon: cold and wet. Inside twenty writers sat at tables for four hours and wrote. Paulann is a great believer in priming the pump as well as using scratch paper for priming. For the priming of our first poem , a “DNA” poem she led us through questions and visual imagery of a favorite place. Here’s my first attempt:
I am the sun sifting through striated clouds.
I am high tide careening toward craggy rocks.
Boughs that creak from the weight of the fog are me.
Salt air blends into wet sand.
I am the well worn path to the sea.
As the afternoon continued I realized that I had perhaps one of my children’s poems:
I am the skip, hop of the hopscotch game.
I am the empty swing in the schoolyard.
Clouds creatures skiffing across the sky are me.
Bullies stand in shadowed corners.
I am the child waiting to be chosen for kickball.
Poetry Friday is at A Year of Reading.