I woke up this morning thinking that I should write a poem. I remembered having some ideas for a poem. I didn't remember what they were. I decided to look through my abandoned lines document (which I wrote about in this blog post) and see if anything inspired me.
Once I got set up, I decided to go through old rough drafts and cut and paste lines into the abandoned lines document. I have wondered if I should do this process, this cutting and pasting, as I write, but so far I haven't.
I don't really go through old rough drafts that often. I was surprised to find some polished poems hiding in that rough draft file. I started a new file so that I don't have to dig through the rough draft file each time I want to polish a poem. I fought off the why should I even bother blues--and I put that line in the abandoned lines document.
As I was cutting and pasting, I remembered the poem I had planned to write. Back in early August, we had a professional development day, and one of our options was a stop the bleed workshop, where we learned how to tie a tourniquet and/or bandage a wound. I thought back to my Girl Scout days where we learned how to tie a tourniquet using only our bandannas and sticks found in the yard--while being severely cautioned that this technique was a last ditch effort only because it would lead to a lost limb. One of my colleagues remembers being taught to cauterize a wound with a lighter--not a technique recommended by the workshop leaders. Ah, the joys of growing up in the 70's!
I'm still puzzling over the possibilities of that poem. But here's an unexpected joy. As I was sorting, cutting, pasting, writing, I came up with a new poem, about living in seminary housing, seeing people cross the parking lot, hearing singing through the walls at night. It's not finished, but I have enough that I'll remember what I was doing when I come back to it.
I'm getting a lot of writing done these days, but I have to be intentional to get poetry writing done. I'd like to do more poetry writing. It's good to remember that puttering can lead to poems.
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