
Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash
I have been a member of Lancaster Christian Writers for about thirteen years. I have learned a lot about writing through their monthly meetings and annual Writers’ Conferences and continue to do so. I have also made some wonderful friends and valuable contacts through this group and continue to do so.
This past Saturday, one of the friends I met through the group taught a workshop on “Practicing the Art of Poetry”. She shared “why all writers should practice the art of poetry”. She shared things I never really thought about. She also shared some poems. Then she instructed us to do two writing exercises. She didn’t stress all of the mechanics, techniques, and different types of poems. She didn’t even tell us our poems had to have structure or to rhyme.
Her main point was: a poem doesn’t have to take a lot of time. It is easier to finish than an article or a story. Not to perfect it, but to finish it.
The first writing exercise she instructed us to do was to write a poem about Grace.
I don’t know where the idea came from, but I got an idea as soon as she said the word “Grace”. The following is my poem about Grace:
Grace is a little girl in pigtails picking dandelions in a field in the sunshine. Sitting on a stoop and giggling as a puppy licks her nose. Dancing in the rain and skipping barefoot through puddles. Singing “Jesus Loves Me” when she is scared, and praying “God is great, God is good” before taking a bite of food. Grace is not only her name, but something in her innocence.
The second exercise she assigned us to do was to take something we’re working on — a novel, devotional, article — and turn a piece of it into a poem. So, this next attempt at a poem is from one of the character’s problems and emotions from my current Work in Progress (WIP). But don’t look for it in the book when it comes out, because I don’t think it’s going to make it into the book.
Was she really rejecting him? The look in her eyes and tone of her voice started a fizzure in his heart, but her words spread and deepend the fizzure into many cracks. Her final declaration that she would not go to Boston with him drove his mind to its knees and he turned to leave.
I enjoyed this workshop and dabbling in poetry for a little while.
