National Poetry Month is almost over, and I haven’t written more than a haiku or two. I’m determined to pen some lines today and am using this post from 2015 to get me started. (It can sometimes be good to take your own advice.) If you’re in a poetry slump as well, maybe these exercises will help you, too!
If you’re like me, when it’s time to pen a poem, your brain tends to wander in the same directions over and over—regular routines, similar themes, well-mined locations. There’s nothing wrong with revisiting the same concepts, especially when you find ways to see them through new eyes, but sometimes it’s exciting to step outside your comfort zone completely and make room for fresh ideas. I recommend allowing a little randomness into your brainstorming sessions. Some of the best poems come from unexpected places.
In honor of National Poetry Month, I thought I’d share three poetry exercises that are fun, easy, and great for generating unique ideas.
(Image from Cliparts.co)
#1. Audio Found Poems (a.k.a Effective Eavesdropping)
Hello, World! What have you been up to? Me? Oh, the usual… reading, writing, accumulating pet hair on my clothes, and trying to get seventh graders to understand time management and the consequences of their actions. The time management thing would be easier if any of them could actually read an analog clock. [Here’s an idea: Let’s start putting analog clocks side-by-side with digital clocks in the hallways at schools to see if the visual comparison will help kids learn to tell time the old-fashioned way. It couldn’t hurt, right?]
As far as how the whole “actions have consequences” thing is going…
I used to have a cat who was addicted to curly ribbon. A package wrapped with curly ribbon couldn’t be in my house for five minutes before the cat would sniff it out, find it, and devour as much as possible, gagging all the while. I took to hiding my bag of gift-wrapping supplies in the top of my closet to keep the stuff away from him. One day, I couldn’t find Gink. I was looking all around my apartment, calling for him, when I realized… I’d left the closet door open. As I approached the space, I heard rustling sounds. Yep. High up on the shelf in my closet, there was a black tail sticking out of the bag of wrapping paper and ribbons. Having found the mother load, Gink gorged on it until he choked and began throwing up in that horrible unique way of cats. (Cat owners, you know it well. Front legs stiff, chin tucked, eyes bulging, tongue sticking out, sides convulsing, and the tell-tale “huck huck huck” sound.) But this was no ordinary hairball. Gink had swallowed, without chewing, an entire ball of curly ribbon. So when it started coming out, it didn’t stop. Like a terrible magic trick, lengths and lengths of blue plastic ribbon emerged from my cat’s throat, still connected, gagging him more with each heave of his little kitty belly. After a few agonizing minutes, it was all out. My poor, traumatized cat sat panting next to a pile of shiny blue vomit. I stroked his black fur and spoke soothing words into his fuzzy ears. “Poor Ginky. That looked awful. Why would you do such a thing? Do you see now? Do you see what happens when you eat curly ribbon? This is why I keep it away from you.” And as I comforted the poor dumb beast, he knelt down, stretched his neck forward, and tried to eat the pile of blue vomit.
Gink lived to 19 despite his addiction to curly ribbon.
Let’s just say that sometimes my students remind me of that cat. No forethought. No planning. Very little self control. For some of them, the curly ribbon is procrastination. For others, it’s online games on their school computers. For a few, it is the deep, unending NEED to reach across and poke the person in the desk next to them, over and over and over, for absolutely no reason.
Anyway, we’ll continue to work on it.
That’s not even what I came here to blog about today.
Spring has sprung, bringing all the usual delights: longer days, warmer weather, evil flowers, ghosts, and, of course, mummies.
Beware of Flowers
Today, I decided to celebrate the warm spring weather by going on a hike. Along the trail, I spotted these beautiful blooms and wanted to take pictures of them. Little did I know, I was falling right into their trap. When I knelt down to snap a photo of these pretty pink flowers, the dying cactus next to them stabbed me. Either that, or I was attacked by the world’s tiniest porcupine. Either way, I stood up with a finger full of thorns that I had to pluck out. Ouch! Beware of beauty. It bites.
Pretty!Pretty!Ouch!
Ghosts
If you think spirits only haunt in October, you’re wrong. I’m proud to announce that I’m writing my third book in the Spooky America series. The Ghostly Tales of Burlington will hit the shelves this fall. Since I have a day job and my own moderate case of curly-ribbon-esque procrastination on the weekends, I tend to do most of my writing late at night and, let me tell you, some of the stories in this Burlington book gave me the shivers, even though it’s nowhere near Halloween. The tales in this collection are so creepy, I may have to head to Vermont to check out some of these haunted places firsthand. Who wants to come with me?
In the meantime, you can still buy my first two Spooky America books. The Ghostly Tales of New England and The Ghostly Tales of Austin are available on Amazon, but if you order from me, I’ll send you a signed copy. $12 for one copy, or $20 for two. You can pay me via PayPal (@ cariejuettner) or Venmo (@Carie-Juettner). Just fill out this form to send me your address and the names of the person/people/pets you want the books signed to.
March Mummies
And last, but not least, springtime really wouldn’t be complete without a mention of mummies, right? On March 16th, Daily Science Fiction published my punny piece titled “20 Signs Your Neighbor Might Be a Mummy.” Check it out, and be sure to click the “Display Entire Story” button at the bottom to see the whole thing.
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That’s it. That’s what I’ve been up to. Reading, writing, teaching, getting stabbed by plants, and determining whether or not my neighbors are mummies. Oh, and I also celebrated my dog’s 11th birthday. How cute is this good boy?
This wasn’t one of those situations where you accidentally bump into a mannequin and instinctively say “Excuse me” before realizing it wasn’t a real person. No, I was a good fifteen feet from this mannequin when I glanced up and said, “Hi!” and smiled behind my double layer of masks. Looking back now, I’m not even sure it had a head. I just saw a human-shaped torso in a cute cardigan out of the corner of my eye and enthusiastically greeted it. This is when I realized I need to get out more.
The pandemic has made us weird. And for those of us who were already weird, the pandemic has made us noticeably weirder.
Take clothing choices, for example.
Our school used to have a “Pajama Day” a couple of times a year where students and staff came to school in their pjs. It was a fun day where everyone looked cute and comfy and silly. Ever since students came back to campus from virtual learning, many of them wear their pajamas every day. And I don’t mean cute, matching flannel outfits they picked out to wear to school. I mean old, faded pajamas that I truly believe they slept in the night before and are going to sleep in again. On the one hand, I don’t care. I’m just glad they’re at school and wearing a mask. It doesn’t matter to me that they’re also wearing ratty fleece SpongeBob SquarePants pants and a hoodie that says, “I paused my game to be here.” On the other hand, I worry that these kids will one day have to wear actual clothes to their future jobs, and I’m concerned they won’t know how to dress. On the third hand*, I sometimes wonder if there will be any jobs in the future where people have to wear something other than pajamas. **
* I told you, the pandemic has made us weird. It seems I am growing extra hands.
** I might be wearing pajamas right now as I write this at 2:00PM on a Sunday.
Our guest lists have changed in odd ways, too. In the past, we wanted to surround ourselves with the most interesting people, the ones who had the best stories to tell or exciting news to share. A few years ago, the perfect guest list for a dinner party would have included a successful doctor who could describe the details of saving a life, a teacher with hilarious anecdotes from his classroom, a journalist with tales from her intense field experience, and the friends who just returned from a trip around the world. These days, when deciding who to invite over for an intimate game night, the conversations are a little different.
“How about Name? He’s really nice.” “Yeah, but he’s always going to concerts and volunteering at clinics. What about Name?” “She’s a little strange. She never leaves her house, and she’s kind of a germophobe.” “Exactly. Call her.” ***
*** By her, I might mean me. I am triple vaxed, obsessive about masking and handwashing and am tentatively available to hang out outdoors with you, provided the daily number of covid cases at my school is not alarmingly high the day before we’re scheduled to meet.
I don’t believe anyone is going to come through this pandemic without being altered in some way, and I am known to embrace weirdness, so it’s okay if you’re a slightly stranger version of yourself right now. You have a right to be. Go ahead and trade handshaking for elbow bumps, cut your own hair, and shout, “It’s just allergies!” every time you sneeze. It’s all good. But if you find yourself having a more than one word conversation with a mannequin or going to a job interview in your pajamas, it might be time for a gentle intervention.
(Image from Cliparts.co) 
Carie Juettner 