Five Solid, Sturdy Blades

A few blog posts ago I talked about inspiration and cited that ekphrasis was one of my favorites sources. This is when a poet uses a visual prompt, such as a painting, to create some words strung together in a manner that might be good enough to call a poem.

Last night I attended a fun writing workshop, called NaPoMo*, ideated by The Lighthouse Writers and held at bookbar in North Denver.  Since my life is partially dictated by rush hour and traffic conditions on I25, I took the long way around through Littleton and Lakewood, up to I70 and arrived in record time.  The parking gods were shining upon me as I pulled a quick U-turn to effortlessly glide into a primo spot right up front.

As I entered the bookstore a lovely young woman was announcing on the mic that this area would be reserved for workshop participants and if that's not you - move.  She probably said please, but I was so giddy as the most comfy chair emptied before my eyes, I didn't catch it.  Now I had a sweet spot to park my butt, as well as my car.  Moments later the workshop began and I had a front row seat with a table for my pot of tea.  One needs to support the venue at these complimentary sessions and my $3.25 probably put a huge dent in that Highlands high rent district.

We did four playful writing exercises in all, and, you guessed it, the one that called to me the loudest was writing from a visual prompt.  Joy, one of our fearless guides, spread out a deck full of assorted postcards and we picked the one that appealed most to us.   The workshop ended with each poet having a chance to read one of our 12 minute masterpieces.  What I share with you today is the unpolished, unedited version of my poem.  I haven't even typed it into a word document yet, it is sitting in my lovely floral covered composition book, scribbled in orange ink.

Five solid, sturdy blades

Pierced my shaky heart

Invading my cage

My protection

The paring knife

Was short and fast

Slicing words that taught me

How to guard

Next was a serration

Sawing back and forth

Treating my emotions

Like day old bread

Followed by a cleaver

Felled like a woodsman

Exposing my rings

Of heartache and grief

Fourth was a chef's knife

Aptly named for the wielder

Surgical cuts to my soul

Never healing lifelong wounds

Finally the last cut

A deboning knife

Excising my inner architecture

Laying my psyche and my core bare

Five solid, sturdy blades

Flayed me

I wish the cuts were deeper

I wish that he had slayed me

Time for another workshop,

Jane

*NaPoMo - national poetry month