Poetry Night at the Writing Life, 27 April 2024
I was going to write an epic poem but I wound up with several short ones.
Hey, everyone, Happy National Poetry Month, and welcome to the poetry slam. 🙂
For the benefit of some of my new subscribers or anyone wandering onto this page, the fourth weekend of the month is when I always host Poetry Night here. I give all my subscribers a sneak peak look at some of my original poetry for a while, and then eventually I’ll tuck it into my archives for the paid subscribers. But, you get a look at it first here.
Since I started doing this, I’ve usually limited my work to one or two somewhat lengthy poems. This often stemmed from my old background in prose writing and wanting to use plenty of words, even though not all those words are doing heavy lifting. I talked about it some two weeks ago in this essay about how I decided to try mucking around with poetry.
I’ve recently been fascinated with the Des Moines River. For those not familiar with the geography of Iowa, it’s a ribbon of water essentially originating from southern Minnesota and draining southward until it reaches the Metropolis of Iowa, also known as Des Moines. From there, it meanders southeast throughout the state, through places known and unheard of, through woods, cornfields, and the odd town or unincorporated area. Ironically, the Des Moines makes up the southern border of Lee County, where my new home of Fort Madison is, until it flows into the Mississippi.
I keep on running alongside, across, and over this river in my frequent travels throughout the state commuting from one place to the next. It's in Des Moines, where I stayed a while. I drive across it as I commute from a hotel in Pella to my current school district where I am closing out the year teaching. It seems I catch sight of the river at least once or twice as I travel back and forth from Fort Madison.
The nature of the river fascinated me, and I began to compare it to the Mississippi River, the river my parents grew up on in La Crosse, Wisconsin, where I grew up in Muscatine, Iowa, and where I lived in Clinton, Iowa, Muscatine again, and now in Fort Madison. I thought such a contrast between this grand, massive, stately river that was such a part of my life and this funky little river I’ve run across in recent weeks and months. It sounds like a good poem.
You will not be reading this poem this weekend1.
As it turns out, I decided to follow my fellow poets’ advice in the Society of Great River Poets and try some shorter poems. I wrote a whole mess of them, and by a whole mess of them, I mean four. These were inspired by river life, life on the road, and some of the complications I’ve run across in recent times.
You will see the other poem about the Des Moines River another time. I hope tonight’s offerings to the muses will sate your interest. Enjoy.
By the way, if anyone can tell me which of these poems I’m doing a syllable pattern on, you get an autographed copy of one of my books. Go ahead and hit me up either in the comments or in chat.
Clicking in Place
After miles trekked and tires worn
Across the highways
And endless packs and repacks
It’s the most complete feeling
The last piece of the puzzle sliding into place
When you plan what needs to be packed up and moved out
The day before
And leave only what is absolutely necessary
For the final night
And can be carried out by one person once
Without any return trips
True satisfaction.
Money Shot
Frustration on slow boil
A slow head shake
As you approach a bridge
And are seeking an image
But none of the images
Firing across the circuits of your phone
Or on the holy touchscreen
Look anything like
The pictures of the river
You took with your mind.
Composing Discomfort
A Writer, A Creator
Like Me considers a chair to be
A composing tool as much
As a pen notebook or a pencil
A laptop
But a chair is something else
Unlike other tools. it is comfort
To soothe the spirit, as well
As cradle for the bodily form
That’s needed.
Especially for the old
And bold writers, it can guard against
The soreness and the tired aches
Of the lower back, the thighs,
The butt, calves, and other realms of the
Lone body
A writer needs to protect
As sleep and nourishment protects the
Mind, so a chair, a fine throne
For such work and serious writing  Â
Is needed.
Writers of past eons did
Select thrones of creativity
As cradles for the body
And mind so the words can flow with no
Disturbance.
So it becomes an immense
Inconvenience when you have to
Rent a chair on the beaten
Road and it can’t seat you erect
And stable.
Just Right
When you get your boat prepped
Fuel set aside
Lifejackets stowed
Compass and GPS calibrated
Consumables prepped to consume
And it’s a rarity
And a treasure
But when the low clouds
Keep half the sun at bay
And the humidity’s down below
50 percent
And there’s just enough breeze
To evaporate the sweat away
The day on The River
Is Just Right.
LOL.