Sneak Peek: Cover of 6th Poetry Book

My process of writing a new poetry book is always peculiar. I wish I could say I first begin with creating the book cover, but I actually start with a new poem. It arises seemingly out of nowhere like a mist in the air. A slew of thoughts drifts through my head, often during the night, right when I’m about to go to sleep or early in the morning when I’m woken by my soft five o’clock alarm.?

My poetry is journalistic in that it describes bite sized pieces of my thoughts, perspectives, and experiences. I reminisce in my poems; I reflect and ruminate on the days gone by and the lessons or tidbits of beauty I can pull from the world around me.?

There are geese in Idaho and monogamous pairs of ducks that walk the landscape of Boise’s parks and neighborhoods. I often watch them nibbling on grass and write of the languid peace they embody in their glide across the ponds. I’ve observed them in passing for the two years I’ve been a resident. I have commuted back and forth to my college classes through fall and winter into the drizzling spring and sunny summer. I’ve seen them raise their chicks to adulthood and enter the lifecycle of the seasons again. No sooner did I find my poems featuring them exhausted as my thoughts of their antics dried up in my mind, no longer requesting to be written down.?

Poetry is an experience and a friend that allows me to slow down and breathe in the practice of mindfulness. My emotions flow out in what is an intimate outlet, and through a free verse style, I can follow my own rhythms, explore my hopes and dreams—even vent my classroom frustrations. I first began writing poems tepidly, feeling the exploration to be a frivolously vain endeavor. The foundation of poetic expression arose causally, incited by the scabbed over fester of a failed romantic relationship which I never gave full closure until I put pen to paper. It became an outlet that bloomed beyond the loss of love to my uneventful encounters with classroom conflicts, the indignities of snide remarks gifted by young college classmates, and the unsettling pressure of being forced to lead as an undergraduate author in the classroom. I wrote of my uncertainties and doubts about returning to college as a nontraditional student who was put in a unique position of transitioning from military to civilian life. Indeed, I am out of place, but now, less confused.?

In poetry, I can bend language. I can fold it to obscure my thoughts and hide within layered ambiguity or write with stark and open clarity. I first fretted over the “right way” to write a poetry book before realizing, after publishing my first one, that there is no right or wrong way to write a book. I have written fiction in novellas, essay collections, and short stories with my brother, and we have always adhered to writing to serve the vastness of the imagination and intellectually stimulate our readers.?

Writing is a creative process, and poems, to an extent, are what you make of them; their interpretation, depth, and uniqueness depend on the reader. The beauty of the art and the impact of its words are in the eyes of the beholder. I think too many poets fret over whether they are doing it right without reflecting that it takes the practice of penning many bad poems to find what feels correct. The goal should be to express your experience of life in such a way that it relates easily to others. One’s reader should always be held in mind, and the words of a poem should flow to fit like a puzzle piece.?

Feelings and emotions should be embraced as somewhat indiscernible; they can be intensely hot or lukewarm yet are ever-changing and fluid. Any concrete attempt to categorize, explain or convey them through words should be considered, at best, an imitation. The focus of the poet most lies in stimulating the reader’s emotions by pouring their own into lines that evoke a response. Poems are ethereal and may capture a moment but are unable to grasp the rich nuances that expand over a lifetime. The poetic form is a snapshot meant to convey something significant to the one who held the pen.?

This essay is a reflection of my experience in writing over 400 poems across five poetry books in seven months and a statement toward my continued commitment to continue writing in the genre as I wade into my sixth book. A new poetry book, for me, never starts in a straight line; often, it begins with a handful of poems that rise with the insistence to be written. From them, I start to formulate a loose theme that may be tied to love, growing pains, the uncertain awareness of feeling out of place, or accepting the transition to full adulthood. I commonly jot down notes and ideas of the book’s main ideas and how they may be organized to tell an unfurling story to the potential reader. I ultimately work to loosely guide what the narrative’s core may convey as I continue to pen the poems that come to me.?

I have never experienced what I consider to be writer’s block, but with poetry, I suppose I would describe my writing as sailing toward me on the winds of inspiration. I may have an idea of a poem come to me as a passenger in a car or be woken up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep because of the nudging visit of interesting words that form new verses. Poetry is a close friend I can talk to, a record of my life that I bundle up into poetic volumes that contain chapters in my life that I’m most willing to share with strangers.?

Lost Daylight, my sixth poetry book, is in its preliminary stages. It’s working its way up to be a story of reminiscence as I slowly prepare to attempt to transfer to a new school. I have my fingers crossed in the hope of good news to come.?