A break, in the blue

More from Hawaii…

path to the green sand beach
The path down to the green sand beach

The road to the green sand beach is about 8 miles from the highway. The path to the beach, meandering, another 2-3 miles (depending on your information). Sun, wind, and no shade.

A very nice couple from St. Louis offered us rides part of the way each way. We gratefully accepted their offer. (I’d wanted to walk the whole way–and did not bring anywhere near enough water.)

Green sand
The green sand doesn't look so green--but you can chalk it up to my photography
Rock formations
Rock formations on the east side (I think, or north) of the green sand beach
Yellow flower
Closer to the hotel...
Naupaka flower
A naupaka flower--each bloom is only half (now there's a metaphor...)

Gratitude in the middle of the blue

I am thankful for having lived another year and feeling lucky for that.

I am thankful that the Komen foundation reversed its decision and returned to supporting Planned Parenthood.

I am thankful for Planned Parenthood.

And I am really thankful for all the people who spoke up, spoke out, and made the difference.

I am thankful for writing and for ideas about writing.

I am thankful for people who focus with dedication on their craft–on learning and improving. Thank you for setting that example, that inspiration.

I am thankful to be here (and to be able to see whale spouts from our balcony).

Hawaii water and palm trees
An anchialine fish pond and the ocean beyond
Cherry blossoms
Cherry blossoms at the Waimea Cherry Blossom Festival
Drummers at the Cherry Blossom Festival

Gratitude for miles and miles and years and years

I am thankful for Mom, and for getting to celebrate her 80th birthday! I’m thankful my sister and I were able to throw her a party–and that her brother and his wife were able to make it over from Eastern Washington. Man, it was fun!

Really, what can I say after that?

I’m also thankful for the opportunity to read at fogdog gallery. It was a fun evening, with a good crowd and many beautiful paintings, photographs and sculptures in the gallery. A visual feast!

I’m also thankful that I found the gallery–being navigationally challenged–and that it didn’t rain. I’ve learned that I’m not so good at driving on I-5 in the dark in the rain.

I’m thankful for a safe ride up to Bellingham and back–in the rain–and light out most of the way. I’m thankful for the longer days.

Looking back, it mostly hasn’t been an easy week (except for the reading and the party), but a week of gratitude for small things–coffee, warmth, getting things done.

And there’s so much more to do.

Open the door. Open my heart.

Where do the poems go?

Trail in a forest; image from Office.com

What’s the next project? The next direction? Where can I go–with poems?
I like to work on larger projects or series. I take comfort in knowing what I’m exploring. It gives me a starting point. But when one of those projects feels finished, I need to find another one.
Finding the next project shouldn’t be hard, because I make lists and more lists. Subjects that suit my fancy at any given moment. Currently on the list: Chagall, Nijinsky.
But does an idea have the power, the pull to go the distance for an entire book or even an entire chapbook?
Even with my series tricks, lately I’ve been stalling out, spinning my wheels on the September poems–and then questioning everything I’m working on. Where is that spark?
For me, my best poems are the poems I have to write.
Into the Rumored Spring was that way–poems saying, “Hey, hey, write me.” Poems waking me up.
I’ve been reading Breach, by Nicole Cooley, and I get the feeling that maybe she had to write those poems. They have that kind of urgency.
But not every path I start down pulls me that fiercely. Or maybe I’m practicing, trying to learn something new. Even deliberate practice is still practice. Exercises. And can exercises be poems? Sometimes, but they still become isolated as one-offs, not fitting into any bigger picture. (Yes, even though I’m a messy person, I like all my poems to fit in somewhere.)
I know writing consistently is important–the practice, the habit. Learning all the time helps me to be ready when I do trip into that next compelling trail to follow. And late this afternoon I realized that I could maybe find that next project by exploring those one-off poems. Maybe one of them is the key to the door to the next adventure.

But for now, I’m going back to the three (!) projects I thought I’d finished–a combination of much self-doubt and wanting poems to work on. I’m writing new poems for those used-to-be-old projects or I’m diving into deep revision on existing poems–trying to keep my voice limber and my skills sharpening. It gives me the comfort of a project and some open space to explore. Which means I never finish anything. And my mom could have told you that.
Do you like to work on long projects? How do you discover your projects?
Or do like your poems one at a time?
Have you worked on a book-length poem? (That might be the best of both worlds, but I haven’t tried to light that fire yet.)
And how do you exercise your writing?

Gratitude, snow & gone

I posted a photo of the Italian Garden last Sunday, in our first snowfall.

Here’s what it looked like later this week.

Italian garden under snow

I’m thankful for the snow–the way it changes the world.

Rosemary in the snow

I’m thankful for T.’s account of walking through the snow and White Mountain icing.

And now that it’s melting, I’m thankful for the wet/dry vac Tom brought home from the shop. I’m thankful the roads down the hill are clearing–and we still have power!

I’m thankful for yesterday’s sun so bright I needed my shades! The whole week was supposed to be like today: rain rain rain rain rain. And then a little sun. But yesterday was blue and bright and gorgeous. It was a beautiful day for my second cousin’s Bar Mitvah service.

I’m thankful for him and his journey and for a chance to gather with our family and share in that passage.

Thankful for a poem acceptance this week. This morning, I received two rejections in less than half an hour (wow!), so I keep reminding myself of the acceptance that came on Wednesday.

I’m thankful for the hummingbirds.

I’m thankful for hearing Suzanne Vega on the radio this morning talking about Carson McCullers. Back in 1985, I was reading The Lonely Hunter and Carson McCullers’s stories and novels. And in the early fall of that year, at the Folk City 25th Anniversary concert, I heard Suzanne Vega for the first time. Two big influences in one Sunday morning, before coffee.