Sept. 28, 2010 Plein Air

Vacation is over -- well, wasn't really a vacation, building a digging and pouring concrete piers for the posts to hold up the headers for the new deck and then building the new deck, plus all the other work involved. And now, wine-making, etc. HOWEVER, no excuses, and I will be working my blog on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. ALSO, when I started this blog I told myself that I was not going to force myself to write something everyday, and that I will not write for the sake of writing, no babbling. Last week I gave a three minute poetry presentation at the fund raising breakfast for the Justice and Peace commission -- and I encourage other poets to engage in community affairs. I firmly believe that if we are to re-birth alove of poetry that we must be out in the community and sharing poems that are accessible to our audiences. WRITING POETRY: When I feel like I am getting into a rut, or sitting at my desk and pulling hairbrained poems out of my cerebellum, whatever, I like to take my journal and pen and some crayons and go outside and do some plein air writing, and practice my ability to look, listen, smell, taste, and feel where I am and what the environment surrounding me is in its being. And once I find something that attracts me, I work at simple description, like I would if I were doing a sketch for a painting. If I really connect, than I write a second draft, fill in the colors so to speak, and if I feel like this could be a poem, I ask myself, "What captured me, what made me write about this in the first place?" And that "sixth sense of it all, whether it be a sense ofbeauty, a sense of fecudity of the harvest, simplicity, generosity of nature, etc. Once I lock onto that, I can move into the third draft and have that sixth sense weave in and out and breathe oxygen into the poem. 1. Simple observations plein air. (Get out of your head and be with a real world) golden slats of cedar pickets surrouding the deck maple tree branches shading the redwood planking cool air goose bumping my arms air as clear as pure water the empty green chair beside me 2. the lush green green leaves of the potted basil plant pinch a leaf, that aroma, as one friend said, almost a sexual experience; another potted plant and the purple trumpets of its flowers I dont't sit here often enough. 3. What is the pull: the deck enjoys itself much more than do I. So much green. Lorca's green, "verde, verde, te quierde verde." green green I want you green. And so, we'll see where that goes. Cheers. P.S. Wednesday evening I am making a "house call" -- going to a friends home to enjoy reciting poems to her friends, and having a glass of wine and dessert. Poets out there, make a house call, you'll love it, so will your friends.