Sunday, August 05, 2007

the glory of poetry

Before I post my camp update (which I will, never fear), I have something a bit more literary to share with you. The ingredients necessary to motivate the poetry you are about to read are: an open road, windows fully down, solar dish size sunglasses on, Arcade Fire blaring (or any fun music, really), and at least two hours of solitude. Sometime around the two hour mark of road tripping by myself, alliteration & similes begin erupting in my head and I have to document them in some form. This past Saturday (the 28th) as I drove to camp, I constructed three poems in the fires of the aforementioned ingredients, cooked in the intricacies of the thought processes that not even I can comprehend. Here are two of the three (to see the last I will need to be enticed).
NASA
by Joann Renee

When I was in 8th grade I wanted
to be an astronaut.
to release the bulkiness
of junior high awkwardness,
and float free.
Free from the earthly
pressure to contain
my airy dreams in a heavy box
lodged in the V of my heart.

Would my white NASA costume twinkle
like it’s brethren,
the heavenly hosts?
Tentatively blinking rays of beauty
and whimsicality shyly hidden
behind years of mismatched outfits,
greasy hair, big round glasses,
and science fiction novels?

A decade later, I still gaze
longingly at the clear night skies—
although the years have turned me
more stylish & confident,
that little box has only grown
heavier, and it seems just a matter
of time before it blasts off
and launches me into the vast canvass
of the unknown.




Literary Motivation
by Joann Renee


Some writers prefer their trusty laptop,
others lovingly caress the keys
of their old typewriter, yet more
embrace the solidity of a good notebook
and lucky pen, while others leap
into the past and return
triumphantly bearing quill & parchment—
But me…

I seem to most eloquently wax
behind my steering wheel
with whatever utensils I can find:
a partially used napkin,
an old Java jacket,
somebody’s wedding invitation,
and some lipstick,
a crayon,
a quarter inch of lead that fell
out of a long forgotten broken pencil.

Once I almost pricked my finger
in desperation that I might lose
inspiration before finding something
else, but a faded yellow highlighter
stuck between the seats with coffee
spills innumerable
came to the rescue
just in time.

2 comments:

Molly Polly said...

No camp pictures??? How can that be?????

farmgirl beth said...

Blessed are you among women, Joann, full of grace. As I read your poetry, the child in my womb leapt for joy!