Tag Archives: Poetry

Trudy Kleckner Shares Thoughts on Writing Poetry

Poet Trudy KlecknerTrudy Kleckner was recently featured in the Arts & Culture section of Quintessential Barrington magazine where she shared some thoughts on writing poetry that we think are worth sharing here. When asked how she turns an ordinary event like visiting a bakery into art she responded: “The poet’s job is to tell a story that moves people. It asks the reader to notice something.” Here’s her poem that accompanied the article.

In The Bakery

the air smelled of butter and sugar and fresh baked bread

a stranger stood ahead of me in line

brown hair sprinkled with grey and smiling eyes

she ordered six scones

      i asked the baker for three

was told they were out

the woman turned and offered to share

oh no i replied

i will make another choice

i did not know her

name or age

but i knew she was kind

i did not know where she was born

or where she lived

but i knew she was kind

i did not know her religion

or her political preferences

but i knew she was kind

in this world

filled with meanness    violence    division

she gave me what i yearn for

more than scones

she offered kindness

We noticed. The poem’s story lifted us. When asked what poetry’s super power is Trudy responded: “Brevity. Poetry says a lot with few words.”

Explaining her lack of punctuation in the poem she said: “Know the rules before you break them. For me, the comma and the period interrupt the flow. Gradually I eliminated punctuation all together. I use line breaks and spaces for a pause.”

The article included some of her thoughtful tips on how to write poetry.

  • Pay attention. What moves you? You can often feel it in your body. It lingers in your mind.
  • Embrace silence. This let you hear an idea inside your head or in your environment. Write it down to anchor it.
  • Let the idea sit for a while until it starts telling you more.
  • Write it out in longhand on paper until you think you’ve got it. Then move it to a computer and edit.
  • Don’t tell the whole story. Let the reader fill in the blanks in their own way.

When asked about the impact poetry might have if read or written by people everyday she said people would be:  “Kinder. More thoughtful. Curious. More open to one’s self and others.” We agree!

Trudy Kleckner’s third book of poetry Bring Light is in the process of being published and will be available soon.

 

A Poet’s Joy When Spring Arrives

Poet Trudy Kleckner

Poet Trudy Kleckner

By allowing long stretches of daily quiet, I invite my muse, the voices of nature, and my own spirit to speak to me. And they do. Often, I take dictation from the universe. The more I unplug from the noise of modern life—television, text messages, music, screaming headlines—the more I am able to tune in to the words of creation. These words become my poems.

Arrival

by Trudy Kleckner

when a red bird sings
atop a leafless tree
and
brown grass turns green
overnight
and
popcorn clouds dot
azure sky
and
robins hop
in search of fat worms
and
buds appear on trees
unfurling chartreuse beauty
and
warm breezes caress my face

then

i exhale
inhale    smile    rejoice

spring

has arrived

An Inspired Poem by IndRani Mondal

Poet IndRani Mondal

IndRani Mondal

IndRani Mondal has co-authored two novels of (medical) science fiction ‘Bugging Cancer’ and ‘Three Daughters, Three Journeys’. She has written and published two books of Bengali poems, ‘Protidin Sati Hoi’ (The Daily Sunder) and ‘Raater Sarir’ (Body of the Night). ‘Fugitive Wings’ is her first book of English verse and ‘P-I-E-C-E-S’ is her second, both available on Amazon. Below is a poem she wrote in gratitude of the Barrington Writers Workshop.

BWW Inspired

I enter the words, worlds, hemispheres,

immerse in high waves of wonder

surface on unregistered shores

witness new horizons

that birth the sun, moon, constellations,

I survive

the parched predictable present

of stale habit.

I dress in glowing fluid rhythm

I live in love

elusive in uncaring everyday

of sound, cadence, flow

leading me beneath a full sky

spilling turquoise laughter

even when tears brim & heart is heavy.

I can suddenly fly

immobile in front of my laptop,

marvel at minds, smiles, nods, hi-s,

get intrigued by plots, styles, language

explore spaces exotic ancient

passed differences of time, geography,

soar beyond stereotypes.

I recreate me seamlessly

regenerate revive

three hours every week –

I enter life bashed, extinct

I exit surprised

take time to recognize me

reincarnated as Avatar!

 

A Valentine Poem by Toni Louise Diol

Made For Me

He folds me

into warm arms,

a safe place

that has been mine

for fifty-four years,

and will belong to me

for as long as we

both shall breathe.

 

He holds my hand

during long walks

through woods,

mountains or along seashores.

 

Over the years,

we have inhaled

sea air

pine scents,

camellias,

and fields of wild flowers,

beneath the sun, moon

and stardust

twinkling down on us.

 

I fit into the hollow

just beneath his chin,

the place

meant just for me.

 

–Toni Louise Diol

Apple Promises

(First published in Gravel Magazine)

“You’re proposing in an apple orchard?

It’s unlucky.”

“It’s apple picking time.

as American as apple pie,”

he said smiling confidence.

“What about

Snow White and the poison apple?”

“Apples to oranges.”

“Adam and Eve.  Forbidden fruit?”

“The bravery of William Tell.”

Tilting her head in a flirty challenge,

“One bad apple spoils the barrel.”

“It’s Isaac Newton smart,”

he said, pleasure filling his eyes.

Showing the frustration fist, she said,

“Russet!”

“Apple bobbing,

an apple a day . . .”

“But maybe

Crab apples,

know how to polish the apple,”

she said with emphasis.

“Don’t upset the apple cart,” he said.

“Caramel apples,

apple dumplings

apple butter.

“Round as an apple,” she said with concern.

“The Apple Dumpling Gang.”

Looking away, her voice soft, she said,

“Granny Smith.”

“Golden Delicious,” he countered,

with soft eyes and an engaging smile.

“Then there’s apple cider,

applejack

Winesap,” she paused,

What about

The Pink Ladies?”

“Jonathan?” he said with menace,

and his lip twitched.

“Rotten apple!”

“Think:

Johnny Appleseed

Gwyneth Paltrow’s daughter,

apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,

wassailing, blessing the apples,

apple of my eye.”

She took a step closer.

“Apple for the teacher?

Applewood burning in the fireplace?”

“A is for apple!” he said brightly.

“What about the Big Apple?

Fuji?”

“Rome?”

“Apple Blossom White?”

“It’s for better or worse.”

Taking his hand, she said,

“Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”

 

— Georgann Prochaska

 

New Year Morn

Shovel in handWinter road

in the endless white

I look around at

New Year morn

empty streets

barren driveways

sans waving neighbors

or dressed up snow people in front/back yards

forlorn smoke curling from home chimneys

only movement in the uncolored stillness

is this New Year morn

a waste or wonder land

with more snow to clear

more muscle aches to address

more time to spend

than same time last year

then most of this driveway

was sheltered with parked cars

of visiting near and dear

meaning less disarray to shovel

then muscles flexed regularly

were supple enough

meaning heavyweight hurdles could be handled

then timetables harnessed time

meaning a lot was my bidding.

 

Shovel in handWinter tree

in the endless white

now I only certify the obvious

growing old in body-mind

learning loss of life-dream

knowing I don’t know much

except evolution is on

nature and humans

still have to vie for survival,

snowflakes melting on my nose and eyelashes

I find

my favorite things are people

their real touch

to transform this New Year morn

from a winter waste

to a wonderland.

 

now more muscle aches to certify

the passage of a year like no other.

IndRani Modal