Seize The Day!

It’s Here!

 

National Poetry Writing Month

Fun for the whole family!  My sister intends to match me, poem for poem, in the comments section of each of my posts.  Mind you, this is NOT a competition.  I have to be very clear about that and remind myself that this is about playing with words, creative collaboration, cleaning my windshield of mud and fear and stuff that gets in the way of my recognition of the wonderful ideas that I, even I, have shining on the horizon.  I remind myself of this several times a day because my older sister is brilliant and has always been better than me at everything.  Of course, that’s entirely my own hangup.  I admit it, and I’m old enough now to face it head on. Right? Right!

I am using a very inclusive definition of “poetry” here.  In other words, I’ve never been a student of poetry, I don’t know form and rules, but as a singer, I like words and rhythm.  As a visual person, I like icons and imagery.  Any formation of symbols that produce an experience can be called poetry in my definition.  Also, it’s understood that any poetry posted here is copyrighted.  If it’s not original, I will site the source. 

I am tickled that this event is starting on a Sunday.  Such creative connotations!  And on April Fool’s Day, just so that we don’t take our creativity too seriously.  I self-published a book of Poems and Parables back in 1997.   This was the first one:

God is a poem

Infinite in meaning

Economical in expression

Clothed in symbol and harmony

A breathing Word

Engaging all perception

Today’s prompt is “Carpe Diem”, with a reference to Andrew Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress.  I have to admit that my brain first translated that Latin phrase as something like “Fish Gods”.  You know, Carp Deities.  ‘Fish gods’ sounds like ‘fish guts’.  I was going down that path for a while.  But then, I remembered a conversation I had at breakfast with Steve about childhood development.  We have often referred to ourselves as 3 and 4 year olds.  He’s 3, and I’m 4.  I got a chart of early childhood characteristics at my last teacher training session, and we talked about how the descriptions fit us.  I often feel like we’re trying to get back to those authentic ideas of ourselves and that maybe, eventually, we’ll become infants again and live as though we were not separate at all from the environment.

So all that musing is background.  I began composing my first lines in the bathtub.  Here’s what I penciled in my notebook when I dried off:

My three-year-old comes out to play

With ne’er a thought about the day,

For what is ‘think’ or ‘time’ or ‘how’?

The only thing is ‘this right now’.

 

My three-year-old, with eye and ear

Stays open’d wide to what is here.

Experience is all, you see.

That three-year-old’s inside of me.

Sniffing a Ponderosa pine in New Mexico. Steve told me it smells like vanilla. I had to find out. I agreed. (photo credit: Steve)

20 thoughts on “Seize The Day!

  1. Scilla sniffs and sniffs,
    sniffs some more and stretches

    Scilla eats and eats,
    eats some more and retches.

    A 3-year-old just doesn’t know
    enough’s enough.
    Scilla needs
    to
    go
    slow.

    Take time to eat and drink
    and even more
    to think!

  2. What a fun start…..and you nailed the prompt, which I passed on. Cause deep down I’m chicken when it comes to all this and thats in thirty days. Nice going.

    Regards,

  3. Carpe diem
    Seize the day
    Latch on and tear the truth out
    from each single moment in case it is the last
    until you’ve lived hard
    died young
    and left a beautiful corpse,
    which, in fact I haven’t
    and my teeth don’t need to lock so hard
    anymore
    as the wrinkles fold in onto themselves
    and it doesn’t matter so much if I take this day
    for there will be another
    as there have been so many others
    and I can let a crappy diem go by
    without a single rueful sigh
    for what I coulda woulda shoulda had to do
    I just breathe once more
    and in my slow exhale let go
    this day unseized
    then sip it slow
    across my tongue to slide against my palate
    pressing clear up to my brain
    each little whiff of scent
    on a trail of where I’ve been and where I might go
    not beagle streak but bloodhound sure
    that each day will lead into a grave
    which I will lay in gratefully
    having learned my resquiscat in pace
    over the many days and hours
    I’ve lived and died in the here
    not in the hereafter.

  4. Pingback: march thirty one: April is National Poetry Month – Write a Poem-A-Day Challenge – April 2 | march thirty one

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