I’m writing poetry again, and it’s like a half-remembered dream. It disappears when I get too close to it.
Why am I torturing myself so?
Well, Turtleduck Press is putting together a winter-themed anthology, and since I can’t write a short story, it was suggested I write poetry.
Oh sure, I can wax poetic on love, winter, Christmas. But for it to sing, to move me, not so much. I tried a new form, too, called the rondeau. It’s French, and it involves repetition in a certain pattern. I love poems with repetition and have been successful with both sestinas and pantoums. And I’m normally very edgy about formal poetry, but this speaks to me.
Oh my goodness. I feel like a novice poet — as if the past 15 years of poems haven’t been written. I feel like a stranger in my skin. What the heck happened?
I suspect I’m out of practice. And writing to a theme is really tough. I keep trying to write sad love poems. And the Christmas poem I wrote was also sad. I’m not sure that’s going to work.
But, gonna keep poking at it. Maybe something will come.