Writing ...

poetry

Photo by Aaron Burdon Unsplash

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This week, I read from my latest poetry collection, streaming live with three other writers. I was the only poet, as I always am in this particular group. Migraines and Their Remedies is the sixth poetry collection published by Launch Point Press. The other collections are Desire Return for a Visit, Lesbian Humor is not an Oxymoron, Poetry for the People, The World's a Stage, and I Eat My Words.

I have a contract with Launch Point to publish from 8-10 poetry collections. Until this year, they were published one each year. I'm not publishing one this year, because I haven't put together my next collection. In fact, I've written very few poems this year.

I've been more focused on both the play I'm writing, and the third in the Shirley Combs/Dr. Mary Watson mystery series.

I could easily put together a collection from the hundreds of poems I wrote during Covid isolation. I began the first week, and wrote for more than a year, a poem a day. But does anyone want to read Covid poems yet? I haven't wanted to revisit them for revision and rewrites.

I have about half the number my publisher wants for a collection I'm called Body of Evidence. The press has a new owner, and instead of the usual sixty, she wants 100 poems. I'm not there yet, and haven't been writing poems on that theme this year.

I write for myself, yes. But I also want other people to read my work, or to see it onstage. If I were a member of a theatre company (as I have been in the past), I'd be writing more plays. Plays are meant to be presented onstage. And having that opportunity has become rare for me. When I'm lucky enough to have a play up, it goes well, people enjoy it. And having had that opportunity earlier this year, I just want to do plays now. For now, anyway.

Reading my work is fun, and I enjoyed doing the reading, even streaming versus real life. In real life is 100 times better, of course. When I had a live reading from I Eat My Words, I baked two of the cakes from the book and brought them to share with the audience. Good times.

My collection The World's a Stage contains poems about each stage of my life. I'll share with you one of the poems from the last stage. If you enjoy it, I hope you'll buy the book or ask your local library to buy it so you can check it out.

Raves Are for the Young by Sandra de Helen

Dylan Thomas wrote Do not go gentle 
into that good night, Old age should burn 
and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

But I say instead: do your raging while you're young
or youngish anyway. As life runs out, your rage can too, 
it's time to overflow with love, share 
what you have learned along the way. 

Give your knowledge as freely as you pass along 
your possessions, hand over the keys to your car. 
Let someone else drive you around, give 
your tired eyes a rest. 

What are your thoughts, experiences, or desires regarding poetry? What are your thoughts about the stages of life? I'm truly interested, and always grateful for your comments.