Hello, fellow bloggers, poets, butterfly watchers (just saw one come up to my window!), et al! I feel happy that I accomplished a short-term goal of submitting a poem to The Modern Faye Magazine’s Annual Poetry Contest. I was introduced to LaFaye Art Studios/The Modern Faye Magazine through…WordPress, of course! They “liked” one of my poems. This year’s theme or guideline was to write a poem corresponding to a piece of very fine artwork. Used to be, I could cook up a poem based on art, a tarot card, or even a leaf falling outside, with no problem. For some reason, this took a little more effort. Perhaps it’s because I don’t write new poetry as easily or as often as I used to (although NaPoWriMo in April jolted me out of my comfort zone!). Believe me, I miss the old days when I just had to write a new poem, a few scribbles – anything. But, I digress. Just feeling a little wistful, I guess.
I do want to write about “editing” poetry. With this submission, I felt the need to edit, and I was right. Made some good changes. But that begs these questions: Am I editing my work, or merely changing it? Where is the stopping point for editing? There are no answers to these questions. They come upon us as we are writing. They come up again when we decide to post or publish.
I had a difficult time of it in April, because I do feel some editing, or at least a review of the material, can be very helpful, especially a few days’ post-draft. I edit as I type; I re-type, reformat, highlight and delete (or move!) stanzas.
In the end, it’s all subjective. Just like life. Everyone’s perception is going to be different. Somehow the “good” (or “great?”) poets have learned a few basics along the way, and the rest is up to the soul of the writer, and the audience he or she attracts due to our innate universal harmonic connections. With that, I present:
the day, perfect: sapphire sky
white windswept tresses
seeks refuge in the garden
her private retreat shadowed
by dark tresses, blue hydrangea;
she recalls Grandmother’s perfume
that’s the moment it shows
but only to this artist painting
this poet musing
no passing guest to witness
but, just now,
sullen eyes betray
Grandmother’s regret as her own
neither child nor innocent
as she was a day or lifetime ago
she just needs a moment
then back to Groom and reception
eyes sapphire bright
Lady Diane Randall (C)