The Magic of Making Poems

Poetry scares some of us

intimidates, conjures up

memories of grade school and the poems

we had to memorize,

the ones that

were impossibly hard to understand

and made no sense

wondering why we had to know this at all

it seems many have had a bad poem

moment that still holds

cringe factor and has created

a wide suspicious circle

around this (to me) very magical language.

This is worth some research I decide

and will address and

ask about it at the next workshop.

Conducting poetry workshops

is a long time dream, goal and passion

for me having had the various opportunities

over the years to

invite a collection of (usually) women

to discover their own powerful voice

thru poem making!

It usually comes as a surprise to them

and I am often and always humbled by

the opportunity to be a witness

to that moment.

Because Poetry comes easy to me,

being my more natural language

than the verbal one

I see it as a way to access wonder and wisdom

my job is to have the net (notebook and pen)

ready to catch the words as they float by

trusting they have landed on the page perfectly

and then, pass them along.

No one is probably more surprised than I

that I have inadvertently made

a living from this

(and my illustrations for more

than 21 years)

What? Really!

My workshop/class/event...

(never sure what to call it...

is mostly just fun exercises)

cause I can't and don't teach anyone

to write poetry

and I could not begin to believe I do

or can...

rather it is to create a space of support,

to encourage and coax the poetry

to happen!

Cause it is my belief

Everyone can write poetry,

everyone!!!

And everyone should!

Before yesterday I had primarily presented

this philosphy to a collection of women

called Mourning to Joy,

the most courageous women I have ever

been in the awe and company of.

It is support group for women

who have lost children

started by my friend, Joyce Floyd.

What has happened there...

is beyond my ability to record,

so I will simply say that thru poetry

these women

found a voice to speak

about their unspeakable grief

and for some it was the first time they could!

Such healing magic came forth.

But would that happen every time?

I wasn't sure ...

would 'would be poets.'

curious ponderers

of wondering "what if?"

be able to capture the floating words

and surprise themselves also?

Oh dear, lets hope so, cause this time

I am a bit terrified

admittedly, as I prepare

and sit with women

who are my friends and people I respect,

value and admire greatly!

Yikes!

I am reminded when presenting anything

speaking with sincere passion

for the subject matter

is key.

So I begin...

I won't give my presentation here...

I would rather you join me in the

physical non cyber realm

for that...so much more fun!

But I start with reading a Mary Oliver

poem about writing

and then hold up my list of rules

for writing poetry...

it is a blank sheet of paper!

It is clear right away this is

the perfect collection

of women for these two hours

whew...!

I know their will be surprises and tears

I know who those will be

but what I didn't expect

was that all of them would be

on the same side of the table

which worked well

because the box of kleenix

didn't have far to travel between them.

This is the part I love

the part that which raises

the hair on the back of my neck

and gives me goosebumps...

Part of the presentation requests

(not requires)

them to read their words out loud,

here is where the magic

and power begins!

At first there is reluctance,

excuses, resistance

some won't even give me eye contact,

and not everyone jumps at the opportunity

to share...

so sure that which has been written

will be judged and is NOT as good

as every one else's creations,

but instead...

what happens is there are

wows, applause, yaay's

and tears...

seems something about

the written language

pulled up,

from the roots of our soul

on our tongues

becomes the taste and sound

of a hymn, a feast

a sigh, a whisper, a prayer

and we know something grand

has occurred!

Don't get me wrong there is also

a lot of laughter

as well...

poems about annoying boys

buried up to their necks in the sand,

(and left there)

weeds being like 711's ,

artichokes

as military vegetables and

prickly pickles in jars of apple cider vinegar

with restless canines.

I am beside myself with joy for it all

and end it with a favorite way

to create poetry called

Telephone poems or Musical poetry.

Everyone starts with a line

for their own page

passing it to our left,

who adds to that line

and on it goes until it comes back to

the originator..

and they wonder

could it possible make sense and how?

You decide...

mine is below and although

I would have loved to have kept them all

to record them here,

no one was parting with theirs,

I noticed,

as they walked out the door

grinning in poetic wonder!

Thank you ladies, you amazed me!

Today, when a message from a friend

said she was sorry she missed

the "Poetry Party"

I thought

yes, that's what I will call it

a party for poem making,

cause its that simple...

that fun!

Pam Piper Rain

Please get on my mailing list

for future parties!

The poem below is written in different colors

to indicate that

each line was written by someone else.

I love this poem!

She Climbed

When she climbed the orange ladder...

the purple crescent moon reached out to greet her

standing on the edge, her heart was alone

foot first, single steps, treading tirelessly,

across the turbulent tapioca turf

a sparkling diamond fell out of the black blanket

into her outstretched hands

It was home, it felt right, the place, to be safe

sitting in the starry night on top of the orange ladder

she no longer felt...alone!