December in October
We’re in our 5th day of rain and December temperatures. At 3pm it’s 54º – that’s the average temperature here in December. October temperatures are supposed to average around 70º – so brrr!
Staring out the window I thought – Christmas. But the light is wrong. It’s not December light. I’m very aware of how the light changes from month to month, season to season – how about you?
I actually wrote a poem about the changing of the light –
Nov 26, 2013
I sit at the dining room table with the lights off.
Staring out the window, the November light is Decemberish.
And then I remember that December is only 4 days away.
It is a sort of rainy, sort of cold day.
It is sort of an uneasy day.
It is 2 o’clock in the afternoon as
I sit at the dining room table
with the lights off – it feels so much later.
But even tho the November light seems
like December, the day does not.
I think December does not feel so unsettled.
But I don’t remember.
I can feel light, I experience light, its weight and substance.
I can smell light and sometimes I think I can hold light.
Light talks to me and tells me stories.
Today the light tells me a story of December
Of darker days and longer nights
Until the subtle shift. December light whispers
Why can’t I remember how December light feels?
We’ve been living here 10 years now and I am so over this place but not the view from my windows…
I stopped being serious
about writing a long time ago. I never wanted to/aspired to being a prose writer, a writer of novels or stories. I always wanted to be a poet. In 6th grade I declared that as my chosen profession and Mrs. Forlano (you remember her, right?) said “You mean poetess” and I retorted “No, I mean poet, it is a neuter noun” Little ole rebellious me.
I don’t read a lot of new poetry because poetry has changed; it seems to me to be just prose chopped into short sentences. But it also seems that is just me. Yet, one of my favorite newer poems is exactly that – prose in short sentences and yet immediately recognized and experienced as a poem. I’m so confused.
I always insist that poetry must have meter/rhythm/music; I have always been somewhat dismissive of “prose poetry” and “free verse” – it just doesn’t scan for me (you see what I did there?). There is a lot of crap poetry around the blogosphere – and the mistake I see most people make is – they don’t put in the work. They don’t maintain the imagery or the metaphor. Poetry is damn hard work. Writing is damn hard work – it is not just spewing words on a page.
I just had an exchange with a friend – she is so talented and gifted with words, language, metaphor. I call her the Empress of Metaphor. Her writing is lush and lovely. I don’t always understand what she is writing about and I don’t care, I just love the way the words flow. She is super smart, well educated and a lot of her references and metaphors go over my head but I get the beauty of them.
I stopped working on my craft long ago. When I was young I took poetry workshops, I took writing classes, I worked it. I still do when I settle in to write a poem but there’s the rub – the discipline part. That and the fact that I write personal poems. I don’t comment on the world at large or Nature. I only write about how I feel. And most days, these days, I don’t feel much of anything.
Why I write quatrains (and a writer at work.)
The thoughts are complete,The rhymes are sublime.It’s how my mind capturesMoments in time.
The thought’s complete,The rhyme sublime.A moment caughtIn just four lines
Holes to be mended,
Holes to be filled,
Holes made Whole,
By dint or by will.
June 12, 2022
I think in quatrains
Spring never happened,Summer is here.Quick trade of hot chocolateFor a cold frosty beer.
Was sitting, just looking out the window, wondering what time I would have to close the windows and turn on the a/c and – the above popped into my head. Just that, nothing more.
A quatrain is a 4 line poem with alternate rhyming lines so technically speaking that’s not a quatrain. But close enough for government work.