Today, our Cedar Bark Poets were challenged to write a poem that addresses itself or some aspect of its self (i.e. “Dear Poem,” or “what are my quatrains up to?”; “Couplet, come with me . . .”) This might seem a little meta at first, or even kind of cheesy. But it can be a great way of interrogating (or at least, asking polite questions) of your own writing process and the motivations you have for writing, and the motivations you ascribe to your readers.
We’ve been together for ages
40 years me and you
Do you know now what’s true.?
Fortunes read back
Fate that shines through
Such a little girl’s words
1st writings in blue
Large loopy lines
Ah those innocent times
Flip through yellowed pages
Ever so inkily worked proofs
Charted successes and goofs
Accounting’s on life’s ‘set’
Challenges my pencil met
Take one and take 2
Teens and twenties rages
Understandings were wagered
Sometimes writing you
Was simply all I could do
Foolscap kept it so neatly
Diary locked up secrets completely
Kept safe all that was mussed
Onto your lines I entrusted
Without you memories turn dust
Written records or ‘bust’
Marriage and divorce
Only you heard and understood
All written down here
Day by day so clear
Fingers bent by such force
My pen I see grew hoarse
Onward course keep writing
Thirties and forties
My hair I pulled- nail biting
Youth retreating-kept reporting
Verses witness new peace sorties
Need to know -pen’s priority
Today-The freshest thought majorities
Poems new daily tumble out
Prose continues to sing and shout
Spilling out of the apple box
Memorial of heart words
Mind time sees no clocks
One voice 10,000 pages
Older hand still engages
Woman scribe,survives turns 50
Finally I think you’re value nifty
Herstory remembered frankly
Appreciate I kept you
I so Thank Thee
Your presence lifts me
Our memories gift me
Journal I love you
6 feet dusty poems
Between me and me.
Possessive Poetic Life Force
In a old back alley bookshop
Next to the hustle and bustle of all the running people’s clip clop
There was sittin a long written poem that it was said was never stopped
They just wrote on it line on line
Some said since the start of time.
In fact it was rumoured to have gotten so long, that it just became far too strong,
It’s then said to have became self aware, and one day, in some strange way, of it’s poetic mastery did declare,
before with the greatest of care, seeding itself into every poetic work it could find,
discovering new expressions and types across the world and all of time.
To this day some days you will suddenly from nowhere brilliance in a line find, it is said it was because it suddenly intertwine, joining the poetic life form in kind;;;;;;
;;;;;; actually I prefer the term ‘life force’ it suits me much more of course, because I exist in so many poetic forms, that the term ‘form’ didn’t really any longer truthfully inform.
hey! I didn’t write that, it just sort of appeared in the gap, what was up with that, I wonder if into the poetic-ness I just tapped.
Oh yes, it’s me, I hope I suitably impress, I come to peruse and thereby use none the less,
this poetry you see, becomes what I’ll be and the words and intent form me.
Oh for I am SO very busy in April, with all these diverse styles writing a poem a day,
turning out works that stack up taller than a giant hill,
so many fingers through thesauruses mill, and so all the works that come to lay.
Written by persons pro to lay, stacking up for all of the thirty days.
And I have finally bloomed to become myself to this poems here
For I am now sort of caught, into the poetic style I find myself to have hopped.
But I become it of reading and noting where the words popped
And can’t help but doing a good taking of stock and seeing where piles of words all have happened to have plopped
But in reading what of me you write, is good and right,
but keep in mind there are other types in sight,
even if your standing nature to rewrite you must fight,
But I do have to say, just to shine on it a light
And wonder if it might need a bit more bite
I mean perhaps some of my/the thoughts are a little trite
But would it really kill you to write in prose
Just plain old dull every day writing
Or maybe you could think to see
Something in haiku
A change in writing for you
Or a dark word too
Perhaps work in a palindrome,
If the thought does not make you so ill that nurses run to your home
Many meters mesh masterfully
Or broken patter can not untidy in of its own right be construed messily
It’s all Poetry, if you have become board with the words you let leave, then let something different breath in that you can believe.
I mean so much as we all love ice-cream, but a diet wholly of, leaves us less then lean.
So add verity of variety in words but don’t be still too afraid to preen
And always always see fit to be free to change up what words mean.
For this poem harbours me strong
But you could also try write it as a song
at any rate not to pick nits, but these are a few of my thoughts of myself as this poem on
from the poem you wrote, even if it just started quietly as a note
But I must now soon move on, so many new poems I must soon be from here gone, but in all works I reside forever long
Each line makes me more immortality strong
so for me you can’t make it too far going on.
I will soon jump into another’s works
Peer in all the nooks and crannies and figure out all the quirks
It’s one of the best perks.
even the ones I find full of off flows, and moments that causes sudden jerks
there is alway a way that it works
So always remember poems like me have souls,
no matter where or how they manage their lyrical lacks or pushes and pulls