Mad and Stormy and Cackly

I should have suspected that reading dark and delicious poesy to March was not the best of ideas. I mean, I was certain that a month stuck between the nippiness of winter and the not-yet-bloomy spring would yearn for dark and spooky. Well, I was wrong and then some… the moment I read T.S. Eliot’s
“April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain”
March smirked creepily and began storming like crazy. I saw little sense in arguing with a month known for its madness, so… I slipped into something warm (about 13 layers, since I’m a complete coward when it comes to cold weather) and accompanied my Piano Man on a walk.

Can you see him in the darkness of my eyes, keeping me warm?

We were out for about an hour. This is a big deal for me. If you’ve been following my health bitching saga, you already know that this is my first time playing in the cold since the winter of 2013… when my lazy immune system rebelled and decided that keeping me warm was too much work to bother with. Today, um… yesterday, I guess, we made stag snow angels… and cackled in the woods like the deliciously terrifying maniac we can be.

I’ve never cared much for snow. My sexy Caribbean blood doesn’t mix well with the cold. But 5 years kept from jumping wildly all over the fluffy stuff left me longing for half-frozen toes (I could promptly defrost in a hot bath). Also, I think bare branches look freaking pretty dressed in the last of winter.

I should find some bright verses to appease March. Some Swinburne? “March, master of winds, bright minstrel and marshal of storms that enkindle the season they smite…” Um, mayhap not Swinburne *cough*.

To Want Is Not Enough

To want is not enough…

to keep me,

you must love

your want.

the (not so) wee notes…
– I spent most of last night talking to a friend who is having a total gastrectomy as I write this note. She’s worried about the pain and discomfort that will come with recovery. She fears the pain-boredom combination “will drive [her] nuts” (a body can’t get very physical after stomach surgery). “How do you deal with it (pain)?” she asked me. “How do you keep your mind from wanting to escape your head?” I told her the truth: “I busy my skull with tales. Then, I challenge my brain to remember them until my hands have the time to birth them in ink.”

She sighed… and reminded me that not everyone has my memory. I explained that when one feels like pain is eating one’s gut from the inside, remembering epics is not an option. If you have been walking this blogging journey with me for a while, my Wicked Luvs, you might remember why I started dancing with poetry. I didn’t do it because I thought poetry was easier than fiction *eyeroll*. I welcomed poetry into my life because almost anyone can remember a line or three (pain be damned). The remembering is easy. The hard part is what keeps the brain-housing group busy: I distract myself from pain by embracing all the effort it takes to shape the remembered lines into poetry.

Take the micropoem above, as an example: I crafted the blackout part on a day I couldn’t get out of bed much. When sitting up became tiresome (and torture on my lower back), I put the old book aside, and started to play with the shape of the poem in my head. “To want is not enough” says quite a bit. But I wanted the poem to say more. Not enough for what? for instance. So, I added the 2nd and 3rd lines to answer that question. And lastly, the 4th line to reiterate what it is that the subject must love if she wants to keep the speaker.

Doing that used some time, but… my gut still wasn’t ready to let me get on my feet. So… of course, I worked it some more. I played with the structure, layered the lines so that they would say other things within the poem bit. To me (and to some of you, I hope), this poem doesn’t only say

To want is not enough…

to keep me,

you must love

your want.

It also says:

– To want is not enough to keep me
and…
– to keep me, you must love
and…
me, you must love
and…
must love your want
and…
…it probably says things that I haven’t seen (yet).

 

That’s the magic of micropoetry (and of all heart-kissed poetry), methinks. Just a bit can say everything… if we brain-love that bit enough.

– while we are on the subject of brain-loving poetry, if you have a minute or 13, visit Poets United, where Sherry is featuring my poem, “How Different We Are Not”, next to the poetic yumminess of Kerry O’Connor and Rajani.

– linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.