Poetry

Summer of Floods

Tourists flock to Vermont in summertime, seeking cool mountain air, green vistas, photogenic barns & cows. This has been a part of the country where change comes slowly. Those nostalgia moments are clearly at risk, thanks to climate change. July has been the wettest season on record, and dozens of towns and residents are still digging out from catastrophic flooding.

As a poet, I’m still sorting out a creative response to toxic rivers, closed beaches, piles of debris & ruined belongings lining the streets of our state capital of Montpelier. Attending fund-raising concerts feels woefully lame, but I’ve done that a few times. Sent donations to local public health groups. My immediate surroundings are soggy but safe. I have family responsibilities that limit my volunteer hours. Today I’m choosing to work where I feel called — updating my author website, featuring the PoemCity haibun that was delightfully displayed in Minikin toy shop in Montpelier for the month of April. Which is supposed to be the rainiest month.

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Scribbling Counts

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I worked hard earlier this month on two separate poetry submissions - polishing, questioning, reading aloud, re-writing, re-titling some pieces, and finally sending them off to meet deadlines.  Whether or not I'm accepted, the process of submitting helps hone my craft. Since then, I've taken a trip to Knoxville TN to visit one of my sisters, celebrated the birth of a new grand-nephew, cared for our lovable chocolate lab grand-dog while our daughter was away, celebrated my birthday and the arrival of the Spring Issue of Rattle in my mailbox. I haven't done much writing.

It's easy to panic in times like this, when poems hide from me or don't flow easily. But today I looked through my notebook, and it's full of scribbling. Snippets of conversations overheard in the American Airlines terminal, ekphrastic impressions of a major piece of glasswork by Richard Jolley at the Knoxville Museum of Art, playful outdoor sculpture at the nearby Botanical Gardens. Spiral-bound phrases popped into my head at random moments. Here's a little sampler: "the Tree of Auspicious Fruit" "Will the trout get his fill at mealtime before the soaring eagle drops its talons?" "Where is the poem in foster care?" "Noise canceling headphones - 4th and 5th chakras exposed to the sun."  For me, scribbling is part of my writing process -- a trail of visual and verbal bread crumbs to follow (or not) when I'm searching for new material. So don't be surprised if you see some of these phrases in a future poem of mine. My creative process doesn't travel in straight lines or adhere to a strict schedule. And that's fine with me.