- Freewrite as many days as I'm able. Craft a poem from the flow if it's there. Polish what I have if I have it. Revise until it's pure.
- Spend a few moments with the little things every day, especially out in nature. That's where the poems are.
Note: I'd like to limit comments on this thread, but comments are welcome on my wall.
Log
i. two freewrites; poetry jam ii. several drafts; second poetry jam; wrote and revised "Black Feathers" iii. few more drafts; some revisions; wrote and revised "I Found the Note You Left Me" iv. more drafting; more revision; started posting This Is Where You'll Find Me v. did a lot of freewrite vi. --- vii. revisions; some drafting in The Jam Station, third poetry jam viii. NaPo Day 8 in a Coffeeshop, fourth jam; drafted more poems; more revision ix. drafting x. -- xi. drafting in Euphoria's jam pad, fifth poetry jam eeeee xii. freewriting I think? Forgot to update xiii. drafted, revised another poem xiv. few more drafts xv. --- xvi. --- xvii. --- xviii. --- xix. --- xx. several drafts xxi. few more drafts xxii. more drafts xxiii. revisions, organizing chapbook xxiv. -- xxv. -- xxvi. -- xxvii. -- xxviii. -- xxix. revisions xxx. final postings
Last edited by Stringbean on Sat May 08, 2021 10:35 pm, edited 9 times in total.
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
I feel like I should have something to say but I don't know what but I don't want to sit here in the silence just waiting for my end with you and not speaking.
It's alright I don't know either but I know and I don't want this either this silence dragging on until you're gone and the silence is consuming me alone.
We find something to talk about and it doesn't feel strange like we only found something to find it. It feels like the white lily-- you the morning and me the bloom opening for you in the mud.
We find something to talk about and for an hour, it doesn't feel as if you're fading.
Last edited by Stringbean on Mon Apr 05, 2021 5:42 am, edited 1 time in total.
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
Have you ever seen a crow die and been overwhelmed by the way the black flock swarms the trees around its body crying out in those piercing notes of agony that echo chaos on all sides to mourn? That is what your death was like...
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
Tonight the sky is the inky black of the feather ring behind a blue jay's eyes, black like the two gazing bowls of heaven. I am a riverbed for dripping starlight.
Last edited by Stringbean on Thu Apr 22, 2021 5:23 am, edited 2 times in total.
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
“Can a magician kill a man by magic?” Lord Wellington asked Strange.
Strange frowned. He seemed to dislike the question. “I suppose a magician might,” he admitted, “but a gentleman never could.” — Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
