Archiving my website: Poetry

I first started writing poetry in high school, you know the kind, angst filled teenage poems about the pain of life and first loves– mostly awful, but very cathartic at the time. Then, a couple of years ago, I tried to write some more poetry. I approached the task as a craftsman of words, trying to sculpt the words to fit a thought or an idea. Again, mostly awful.

In April 2002 I attended a poetry reading. And I really listened. I listened for poems that I liked, and thought about why I liked them. What I found was that I liked poems that described a scene, a moment, a slice of life.

The next day I wrote three poems– slices of my life. For the most part, they came to me as complete poems, with very little edits needed. I’m not sure how this happened, but I think it’s because rather than forcing words into lines of poetry, I let the words come to me. And let them fall into place.

Now, I’m working on personal essays, that are hopefully poetic 😉

See samples of my poetry in comments below:

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5 thoughts on “Archiving my website: Poetry

  1. Cleaning HouseBlue jeans, one size too big.And eager to get rid of them, I start the pile for Goodwill.The brown silk blouse I last wore to grandma’s funeral seven years ago.Goodwill.The sparkly silver shirt I bought for new year’s eve, three years ago. And never wore.Goodwill.Patent leather pumps. Nearly new, but the sleek toe and three inch heels hurt my feet.Goodwill.And that sexy black lace top I’ve never been brave enough to wear in public.Goodwill.Purple silk brocade dress and matching jacket. Pure elegance.It was my grandma’s. The perfect outfit for a navy officer’s wife to host a party– Back in 1962.It doesn’t fit me. And even if it did, I probably won’t ever wear it.So I fluff out the wrinkles, and gently place it back in the closet.On my bathroom counter, I see the bottle shaped like a gemstone.Joya. The perfume my mother wore.The cap is a bit discolored, the gold paint has worn off the label. And though after twenty years it has nearly turned rancid, a hint of the sweet exotic scent remains. So I wipe off the dust, and place it back on the counter, memories of my mother and grandmother lingering in the air.Jennifer Simpson, April 2002

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  2. The BedroomA patent leather strappy sandal lies in the doorwayIts spiked heel points upwarda warning to all who dare enterBlue jeansBlack jeans, gray turtleneck, white cotton underwear strewn on the carpetRed capri pants, one leg turned inside out crumpled on the bed beside a white tennis shoe, whose mate is missingWhite shirt, black shirt, green tank topin a heap on the closet floorBlack lace bra on the nightstand next to a mug of cold coffeeRemnants of a fashion crisis.Jennifer Simpson, April 2002

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  3. UntitledTriple digit debtfunding double digit dreamsCalifornia. Peach No. 1Succulent soft skinsweet juice dripping on my chin a perfect ripe peach Untitled 1Dreams of nibbling lipsmy wet tongue anticipatespeanut butter toast Peach No. 2A quick flick of tonguecapturing soft dulcet dropsbetter than bad sex Untitled 2My skin is alivewith memories of your lips…..nibbling my big toe

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  4. BaggageThe soft butter brown leather tote, with a wide shoulder strapfits under an airline seat– even in coachit doubles as a briefcaseThe small green suitcase trimmed in black has wheels perfect for a weekend getaway,It fits in the overhead compartmentThe two family-size suitcases are made of thick, heavy caramel colored leather, with brass clasps, they each weigh 20 pounds empty. should be in a vintage shopThe large green duffel bag is leftover from grandpa’s days in the armyThe big black canvas backpack hasa zipped panel hiding the thick padded shoulder straps, andmemories of romps through Europe and summers spent camping in the mountains “I have a lot of baggage,” he saidand I wonderedWhat would happen if the airline lost it all?

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  5. Ode to Luna/SeaDiamond lightdrenches sapphire skycaresses inky seamoist salty breeze carries sweet scents of sageBathed in firelight and shadowshe swirls and twirlssatin cool sand sifting through her toesarms stretched to the skyface tipped to the starsblood pumpingto the beat of the drums, the rhythms of ocean waves pounding the shoreOh beautiful MoonseaLunaSeaBeautiful LunacyHead full with dreams,full with memories of the past,and fears of the futureshe wades into the waterand floats on her backon her sidelonely tears blend with oceansilky arms of mother earth embrace herOh beautiful MoonseaLunaSeaBeautiful LunacyWater waves wash away her fearsrefresh her spiritand cradle herfor a momentor twothen gently return her to shoreto the fireto the circle drumsto lifeOh beautiful MoonseaJennifer Simpson, September, 2002

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