poetry writing with Caitlyn.

how do we write poetry?

do we talk to our dogs, looking for inspiration?

do we take dancing shell fish, and listen to their sweet cries while we boil them in a pot?

do we mourn our mother's deaths, and use our tears for sonnets?

do we stare endlessly at a blank screen, hoping for inspiration?

do we dare really look inside, and see our inner scarecrows?

do we play with words the way we dribble a pass, and shoot and score?

do we give thanks for our wordplay, and lift up our poetic offerings?


is it a smoke we stare at, wishing we could join it's dance.

is it a fire in our bones, longing to get out?




Caitlyn's poem. #1

I don't enjoy the feel of tar,
 but I love the smell of smoke.
hmm, I don't know why,
but I'm always a big fan of warmth.

I will not admit what I like about warmth,
but it's tantalizing.
you can experience warmth without getting burned
for the most part...
not all the time.


how do I feel about fire?
I will not admit to any vandalism sir,
of the house where I lived,
or the school where the bully picked on me.
..but i will claim that fire can be righteous
and a thing of beauty, that charms
and then runs away
 from the one who seeks
to control it.