Hinge

Today I began reading a little powerhouse of a poetry book, Hinge, by Kathleen Lynch. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who can make a meaningful poem about bacon and eggs, has my attention.

I heard Kathleen speak recently at the California Writers Club, Tri-Valley branch luncheon and while I am not a poet and don't know much about it, I'm more of a fan these days. I love the economy of words that good poetry offers and the vivid images they offer.

In his book, Poetic Medicine, John Fox says, "Poetic language expresses what plain language cannot, and thus helps us heal in a very unique way." He referred to a poem written by a student and went on to say that sometimes poetry expresses feelings best.

A few years ago I wrote a poem about writers...but before I share that, I thought the picture that my husband took (above) when we were in Sedona would lend itself to a wonderful writing prompt sentence starter, so here goes...


Somewhere between light and dark...
Perhaps the hills were too hard to climb because ...
The rocky path through the red rock gave me plenty of time to think about ...

And here's my poem....

WRITERS
By Cindy Luck

I believe writers
Love colored pens and pencils, prefer
A medium or fine point and
Notice the texture of paper

That writers …
love the smell of
Books and bookstores
Libraries and notebooks
and
leather-bound journals

I believe writers …
Have a burning desire to write
And burning guilt when they don’t --
if they’re not writing on paper
They’re writing in their head

I believe creativity strikes
In the shower
on a bus
Walking the dog
Having great sex—
Often when there’s no pen in sight

That wonderful ideas pop
On vanilla-ribboned sunlit mornings,
Falling into dreamland and
On cocktail napkins folded up
In last year’s winter jackets

I believe we think and write creatively
When we’re prompted by our senses
Smelling garlic, skunks, orange mist, sweaty sex
Touching silk, sandpaper, loose puppy skin,
Wet kisses and babies,
Seeing fireball sunsets, crashing waves, the hand of a lover
Hearing, Pacabel Canon in D, Elvis Costello or
Heartbroken sobs,
Crackling autumn leaves and the swish swish swishing of pink taffeta

I believe that writers must write …
and
When they don’t they deny themselves
and the world
Their gift.