Trying to Organize my Poetry = Blech

real simpleI cyclically go through phases where I have a desperate need to clear away clutter and simplify my life.  Unfortunately, these tendencies rarely extend in all directions.  That means while I’m cleaning out the clutter in the kitchen junk drawer, the hall linen closet gets stuffed with unfolded sheets.  Martha Stewart I am NOT.

I’m not sure about other writers, but over the years, I’ve accumulated a great deal of POEMS.  Trying to organize these various documents and files has become a little overwhelming.  Why aren’t they just in alphabetical order, you ask? Because that would be too freaking simple!

No, seriously, they aren’t in alphabetical order because pieces are in various stages of editing and revision.  Sometimes they are bunched up as I consider themes and collections.  Sometimes they are leftovers from writing assignments in classes.  Frankly, I even have multiple copies of the SAME poem in ten different places (which makes things doubly confusing when I edit/revise in one location and then forget exactly WHERE that location Is).

One of the nice things about Nanowrimo is that the organization would send out weekly reminders to back up your novel.  I LOVE this because I would take time, right then, to save the document to the cloud.  It’s not like I don’t know to “save” my work, but how many of us do this with regularity? (Shut IT if you are one of those a-holes who is always on top of this)  By the same token, I’d like to get my work uploaded somewhere safe and in a cohesive manner that’s easily navigable.

This is one of those occasions when I would LOVE to hear from others about their suggestions.  Feel free to comment below, via twitter, or on my facebook page.  Right now, I’ve decided to put poems under “theme” headings, like “School/Teacher” poems.  Then if a poem gets published somewhere, I’m going to change the name the document is saved under to include the publication’s name and date.

I suppose I’m inspired to do this in part because I try to organize and simplify my life EVERY new year.  Even though I know some of my efforts fall apart over the course of the year, I’ve been pleasantly surprised to realize that I am NOT quite the same flitterbegibbit that I was at twenty-one.  Gosh, it’s been at least a month since I lost my keys!

Now where the hell are my sunglasses?

Prompt #23: Secrets

We’re nearing the end of our journey in poetry together with only a few days remaining.  Remember, you can share your work in the comment section or via email at aprilpameticky@hotmail.com.

Prompt #23: Secrets

Secrets can be powerful or life-altering.  Sometimes they are little things, silly, quiet moments we don’t share with others. Secrets can also be weapons. Play with this idea and see what you come up with

Prompt #7: Poetry of Place

You may email your responses directly to me at aprilpameticky@hotmail.com, or leave your efforts in the comment section below each day’s prompt.  I would be happy to share work and links back to bloggers and poets that have decided to participate.
 
Many of you may already have a poem or piece that fits the prompt, but try to write and share something new.  Flex muscles.  Write.  You can always revise later.

Prompt #7: Poetry of Place

I love poems about place, poems that dig deep to describe the aura, the feel, of a time and space.  The irony is that wepoemcrazy always occupy space and rarely pay attention to it.  Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge, in Poemcrazy, talks about encouraging her poetry students to go for long walks and just “collect words.”  These collections then become the seeds of poems, but it takes that discerning ear and eye.

Pick a place and try to stay away from an extraordinary place in your memory.  Focus in on the mundane instead, the blasé, your office cubicle or the interior of your car.  Describe it as if it were the most fabulous vacation destination… or go the other direction and describe it as a little tortuous corner of hell.

But flex those ‘poetry’ muscles.

Now shhhh, I’ve got to do this for myself.

Prompt #6: A Room of Your Own

You may email your responses directly to me at aprilpameticky@hotmail.com, or leave your efforts in the comment section below each day’s prompt.  I would be happy to share work and links back to bloggers and poets that have decided to participate.
 
Many of you may already have a poem or piece that fits the prompt, but try to write and share something new.  Flex muscles.  Write.  You can always revise later.

Prompt #6: A Room of Your Own

bathroomWhat is your favorite room in your home?  For me, it is definitely the bathroom. I know, you’re thinking that’s bizarre, but it’s private and relaxing.  I’ve even been known to read books in the bathtub.  Thankfully, friends suggested that I put my Kindle in a Ziploc bag in case I slipped up.  Try to describe your favorite room, either from your childhood home or in the place you are currently living.  What is it about that space that makes it so special?

PS: That is totally NOT my actual bathroom.  If it was, I would live there.

Free Write

The beauty part of exploring my poetry recently in an effort to clarify some common thread/theme/tone is that I’ve stumbled upon things I wrote and forgot about.  Forgetting is often a blessing–it’s good to get rid of crap and keep moving forward.  But sometimes I read something I actually LIKE.  Huh.

Two Fathers and a Birthday

His reaction was instant,
the flush sweeping up his face—
I imagine the tiny capillaries bursting from the force.
His hands balled fists,
the nails digging dried and dead cells from the centers of his palms.

Causal Relationship I
A kick, lashing out, not even from the hip, just the knee,
as if tapped by a reflex hammer,
sweeping the feet out from under the tiny body
that slammed into the floor,
the air compressed from lungs
so that the ragged cry was delayed.

Causal Relationship II
At four he should’ve known better,
but daddy pointed and smiled
and it seemed so funny just to haul back and hit that guy in the balls,
the guy who was teasing him,
and daddy didn’t like him anyway,
so that’s just what he did,
just hauled back like a pitcher on the mound,
let his fist go like a rock flying from a sling shot.

Causal Relationship III
Her chubby fists clutched at his ears, a tree-monkey,
and he had both hands full of her knees so that she wouldn’t go
tilting backwards.  She felt safe,
which was all that really mattered.
He teased the four-year-old who had picked
on his daughter, calling him four-year-old names like
pooper-scooper, and dookie-head.
He didn’t see the fist coming.

Causal Relationship IV
The sling-shot fist was rewarded with a high-five,
while tree-monkey daddy struggled NOT to buckle,
his face a Dali.

I sat on the couch, considering another piece of cake,
mildly concerned that the 55 gallon fish tank
might be the real ‘victim’ in all of this if it didn’t survive,
and I couldn’t wait for the whole slew to get the
hell out of my house.

The issue with attempting to put together a ‘collection’ is that typically a ‘collection’ implies that the writer was collecting something, a common idea, a common thread.  I would LOVE input to help clarify and much of my writing is already online via Free Write at http://aspameticky.wordpress.com  Feel free to weigh in my errors of conceit.