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In honor of NCTE’s National Day on Writing, we Teaching Authors continue to bring you a series of posts about our own reasons for writing. We started with JoAnn Early Macken's take on it, then Mary Ann Rodman and Carmela Martino spoke up. Below is my attempt to explain/confess/explore in a poem why I write.
In honor of NCTE’s National Day on Writing, we Teaching Authors continue to bring you a series of posts about our own reasons for writing. We started with JoAnn Early Macken's take on it, then Mary Ann Rodman and Carmela Martino spoke up. Below is my attempt to explain/confess/explore in a poem why I write.
And speaking of explore, be sure to explore the NCTE web site!
About the Initiative xxx Tips for Writers xxx National Gallery of Writing
About the Initiative xxx Tips for Writers xxx National Gallery of Writing
WHY WRITE?
by April Halprin Wayland
I can spy half a mile from my leafy retreat
to the ocean-licked sands
to the ocean-licked sands
where the scribbler birds tweet.
“Tell me why do you write?” someone yells up at me
I lean on a branch to consider the question.
then climb even higher to give my confession.
New ideas are a little like dandelion wisps
It’s here that I catch those exciting “what ifs”
then I blow on them all as I open my fists.
I hold on to just one…the rewriting’s begun
I’m lost in a fog—I don’t want to be found.
Then I read it aloud and listen for sounds.
When I finally have something—what thing? I don’t know—
I break off a twig and I poke in two holes
then I wave my new words that say, “I did this—me!”
So—why?
Why indeed?
A sensible question—if you’re not up my tree. “Tell me why do you write?” someone yells up at me
I lean on a branch to consider the question.
then climb even higher to give my confession.
New ideas are a little like dandelion wisps
It’s here that I catch those exciting “what ifs”
then I blow on them all as I open my fists.
I hold on to just one…the rewriting’s begun
I’m lost in a fog—I don’t want to be found.
Then I read it aloud and listen for sounds.
When I finally have something—what thing? I don’t know—
I break off a twig and I poke in two holes
then I wave my new words that say, “I did this—me!”
So—why?
Why indeed?
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| I know it's corny, but writing really is a magic carpet.. |
Thanks so much for sharing your poem, April. I especially like this image:
ReplyDelete>>New ideas are a little like dandelion wisps<<