Poets
often produce a collection of their works later in life, so when some of my
poetry went out of print, I decided to do the same.
Selecting then arranging poems can be a challenge, but establishing guidelines for those
choices will help. For example:
- Look for poems in various forms, tones,patterns, and style to keep the collection interesting.
- Choose subject matter that matters to readers, so they will relate and connect.
- If the poems come from several poetry books or chapbooks, their book titles can be used to divide the collection followed by poems from each previously published manuscript.
- Sections can also be divided by topical interest. For instance, A Gathering of Poems separated poems by the books in which they originally appeared then ended with “New Poems.” However, categories such as “nature poems,” “people poems,” or “poems of faith” could have worked too.
To show you what
I mean by the above suggestions, I’ll identify the section and type of form
used for the poem that follows. My hope is to help your work and, yes, introduce you to A Gathering of Poems.
[This free verse poem begins the book and the first section which comes from my first
poetry book, Living in the Nature Poem
– no longer in print as, sadly, the publisher closed up shop.]
Sleeping with the Universe
Beyond
the action of creation
lies
a great repose. You can
see
this in a wildflower – the
closing
of petals in tight lashes
against
a lidded night – or in the
breaths
between a burst of bird-
song:
this lull unknown to highly
cultivated
peoples, places, plants.
You
can see it today in the falling
away,
overnight, of leaves from
the
live oak, exposing an amazing
maze
of boles, terminal buds, and
holes
for nesting in the dark. You
can
see this in the gardenia – its
leaves
cold-snapped into crackling
paper
curled to protect the tender
growth
– or in the dust flecks
resting
on the pocked marble-top
table
or in the hush of the porch
rocker
or in the sag of a telephone
wire
or in the pulsating of a star.
All
attest to this universal need
known
to artists, children, poets,
who,
poised in mystery, must
watch
and wait and wonder.
[Also from Living in the Nature Poem, this
traditional poem – based on a personal experience – has four verses of four-beat
quartrains – I.e. four lines per verse.]
Down Kinney Town
Feet
bare, the girls came up today,
and
Mama gave them ouch grown shoes
that
once belonged to me or Kay,
but,
oh, I longed to give them too.
Two
girls they were: soiled blonde, unkempt –
not
like Mama's girls who shone
in
new sewn clothes and often dreamt
of
finer galaxies than home.
With
clean hands bare, could I, a child,
share
much with girls from a small shack, wild?
But
one said, "Come," so I went down –
down
the tangled path to Kinney Town.
Theirs
was adventure I could play.
A
cold potato rationed me –
eyeless,
grown in soil, unbent. They
gave
that last leftover. Free.
I
took.
Then
home I went with backward look.
[Again from Living in the Nature Poem, this piece
was my first published prose poem aka paragraph poem.]
Hapless Holiday
I
don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I
can
shut the door you bolted on the other side.
Keeping
out weather is one thing, raccoons
another,
although I know there's nothing below
the
kitchen sink they might find appealing –
blackened
banana peels, coffee grounds, and
those
eggshells I keep on breaking as I walk.
[This last
example from Living in the Nature Poem
presents a haiku with a traditional pattern of 5/7/5 syllables per line. More important is a
light touch and reference to a season of the year.]
With Coffee at a Sidewalk Cafe
Almond
slivers, pear
slices
with a bit of Brie –
Spring!
Taste buds blossom.
[The
second section of A Gathering of Poems comes from my second
book of poems, Outside Eden, which
begins with the title
poem that gave the book its name.]
Outside Eden
Away
from the flaming torches,
everything
grows dark.
Does God never
want me near?
I
turn back to look,
but
angels loom,
and
sparks drip from wings
as
though they’re bleeding.
I
hear a lion roar.
Is this called fear?
I
do not know what I can eat now –
every
berried bite a potential toxin,
waiting
to take hold.
I
don’t know where or when to sleep,
but
I drop down, exhausted,
hoping
the serpent
won’t
coil around my ear.
[Gathering
poems from my next book, Faces in a Crowd,
brought this free
verse to mind as an example of an impressionistic free verse involving
readers and relying on brevity.]
Nerve
You’re
starting to catch on,
starting to
regain your balance,
starting to
gain some insight
into what you
see, when
suddenly
you awaken,
and it all
begins.
[Poems
from Lost in Faith include this traditional
sonnet
with 14 lines, end-line rhymes, word plays, and a shift in focus or
resolution at the end.]
Attention To Detail: Sonnet on Straightening My
Son's Room When He'd Grown Up and Away
Fallen
into dust, the plastic people lost few parts
throughout
his years of play. I'm proud of my son's
command
over this company of miniature warriors:
a
helicopter pilot, a Navy Seal, and tiny soldiers
sealed
in skins akin to a small green grenade.
But
now, a hundred scattered pieces have made
this
battle dangerous to endure – cannons
to
the right of me, torpedoes to the left, guns,
bombs,
and the wing of a shot-down plane. I watch
to
see if anything will move again. A
shadow
flares
on the floor as I troop to retrieve each
camouflaged
piece ready to be dismissed now.
Part
of me resists this final mission: To release
these
fatigues of childhood, honorably, at ease.
[Also
from Lost in Faith is the turning of
a Bible parable into poem.]
Going Mile Two
Matthew
5:40-42
And
Jesus said:
If anyone wants to sue
your
socks off and take away your tunic too, then hand over
your
coat, your cloak, your robe, your cape, your fake fur,
and
definitely that denim jacket with tarnished silver studs.
Who
knows? Eventually they might realize they did not get
your
angora collar.
If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two
and
while you’re walking together on The Way, give them
whatever
else they ask, and don’t turn away from the one
who
wants to borrow, borrow from you. Who knows which
tomorrow
will bring a cloak of sorrow or remind you of your
own
dire neediness?
[The
final section of A Gathering of Poems brings new poems,
including this piece that arose after revisiting the Bible story
of the resurrected Christ on the road to Emmaus. That not only encouraged me to
internalize scripture as though I were there, the resulting poem symbolizes the
road through Lent, leading to the joy of Easter.]
Joy
On the road
from Arimathea
to Jerusalem,
Jesus and I
turned cartwheels,
not minding the muck
on our hands or
the pebbles pressing
into our palms.
We felt unfettered,
knowing
no one could ever
kill us again.
Mary Harwell Sayler, ©2020
…
What a help, Mary! Your poetry is beautiful, too.
ReplyDeletePraise God! Thanks and blessings, Beckie.
ReplyDelete