As a break from the grind of outlining and writing my current screenplay project, I’ve been working on some poetry. In my writing workshop the other night I had my group read a piece I’ve been working on, and I thought it might be minimally interesting to someone (or not) to see how a poem comes together. This of course is speaking only for myself. So here ’tis:

Beginning – most of my poetry starts with a visual of some kind. Or should I say, most of my poetry is inspired by some type of visual imagery. It could be a single thing or a combination of a lot of different ones. This particular idea came as I was sitting in a church parking lot, looking at a tree fort that someone had built in their backyard.

And then – for some reason, things generally seem to work better in my writing when they start with pencil and paper. Not sure why…maybe it frees the mind to roam without the fear of “permanence” of being typed out. With this particular poem, I wrote out the entire first draft in one sitting, but just as often I will scribble various words and images, then let it sit for awhile.

Inspiration – In addition to the visual that keys the poem, I try to be open to whatever else is floating around in my mind, with the hope that something might bubble up and connect itself to the current idea. For this poem, some of the word ideas that came included the wonder of childhood, the longing for the past, and the mystery of looking deep into the sky on a starry night, wondering how far the inky black extends…

Surprise – maybe the most important element in any creative work is the surprise. In this case, the poem began with a lighter tone, even playful. I sensed something more hiding in the fun, but it didn’t come until the work was actually being written. Beginning with “And then late, late into the dark…,” there is a definite shift in tone to from playful to melancholy. See if you agree. The trick seems to be to stay wide open to whatever from wherever. Positation!

Meaning – it was a lot of fun to hear other people read the poem and then come up with their own interpretation of what it meant. It gave me a little taste of what it might feel like for a painter to have an audience deconstruct a painting. I happily confess my “meaning” for it wasn’t nearly as profound as the meaning that an audience attributed to it. Which was lovely, actually.

I’m going to post two versions – the original and a revision that came after my workshop feedback. Would love to hear what you think as well. What works? What doesn’t? What would you change and why?

And remember, poems are best read aloud.

Here is a link to both versions. And thanks for taking a look, if you do.