It is almost NAPOWRIMO 2021. Something I’ve been stumbling through for about 10 years, having fun, pulling words out of the air, some making lyrical sense, some not. Most of the time I didn’t go back to revise, it was on to the next day’s thought. I’ve been writing poetry since childhood, have had a number of publications in newspapers, anthologies and online publications. A picture book idea consisting of poetry won an award, and was presented as a staged reading by a theater company. Had an exhibit of illustrated poetry at a library, lots of readings, including at a presentation when the Anne Frank exhibit came through New Jersey. A few gems among the rocks. My computer and my file cabinets are overflowing with the good, the bad, and the ugly, not sure which category is the largest. It’s been a fun ride, a therapeutic ride, a life-documenting ride. Now as I approach that time of life when thoughts turn to decluttering, downsizing, and even Swedish death cleaning, I wonder what I should do with all this confetti. Maybe, as Jo March did in “Little Women,” I will burn it all. She started over, I don’t think I will.
Then again, who knows. It’s like the old story, “The Lady or the Tiger,” firepit or filing cabinet — I don't know what door I'm going to open — Good, bad or ugly.
(for all those poems I wrote that should not have seen the light of day)
This is a placeholder for the first line of my poem,
Here is where I used an amazing alliterative phrase
But this line was ironically unrelated to
the symbolism taking place here.
I deleted these words completely And replaced them with some even less lyrical Trying a third time to capture the metaphor Which sounded too much like a simile Saying something about how art differs from craft.
This stanza sits waiting for wordplay,
a clever conclusion of a profound thought
literally a literary revelation
as soon as I finish revisions.
©2021 Noreen Braman
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