I’ve been writing poems lately. Some days I’m surprised and pleased by what I write and think I might someday have something worth submitting somewhere. Other days a voice in my head says: You can’t write poetry. Whatever made you think you could? Why are you torturing yourself trying to write something no one will want to read anyway?
This, I remind myself, is to be expected. Crises of confidence are part of a writer’s life. The best way back to the good days, I know from experience, is to just keep writing.
Sometimes I rediscover the joy of writing by working harder, other times by playing. As I did one day in December, when I decided to try my hand at an erasure poem, just for fun. And fun it was! (To write one, you take an existing body of prose, erase a bunch of words, and what’s left is your poem.)
sweet savor of clover
cracked blue jug
an enchanted princess
riding a coal-black steed
one can live down troubles
a white lady walks wailing
cold fingers of a headless man
home a story
Curious to know where these words came from? The visual for this post is a clue!