This week I am posting poems by three more poets whose work I have been following. Each has offered words about the creation of the particular poem included. And, as before, you’ll find writing ideas from me based on each of the poems. Let these poems live inside of you for a bit after reading them and then see what each fosters in your writing.

Susan Rich is a Seattle, WA poet who has worked as a staff person for Amnesty International, an electoral supervisor in Bosnia Herzegovina, a human rights trainer in Gaza and the West Bank and an instructor in South Africa on a Fulbright Fellowship.

Going—
by Susan Rich

“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s
soul remains unawakened.”— Anatole France

I photograph you every morning
In a cruel attempt to capture
A formal souvenir of what I love
After breakfast, and then
Each day a little less
You take a stand, examine finches
Windowpanes   knocking
Your head against my hand
Until you don’t—
There is no way to tell you
That you are going
With few days left
For what our rebel hearts relay

— from Cloud Pharmacy

Susan writes of the poem:

Over the years I’ve learned that there are distinct genres of poetry one should avoid. One of these is the favorite pet poem. Writing a poem to one’s dog (or cat) presents an almost impossible task. How does one avoid cliché? How does one risk sentiment but not drown in it? Writing a poem to one’s dead pet presents even more mine fields. And yet. When Otis, my cat companion of 10 years died, I knew I needed to find a way to write about it. In the end, I found several poems by W.S. Merwin honoring his dogs and this freed me to write a poem about the last days with my cat. I knew I couldn’t mention that Otis possessed adorable ears, extra long whiskers, or soft fur between his paws. Instead, I wrote from inside the experience of watching him die. As many of us know, this is not so different than watching a person that you love die. The poem is succinct and was published in the Southern Review before appearing in Cloud Pharmacy. Clearly, there are others who also connect to their animals. And why shouldn’t that be something that we write about?

You can order Cloud Pharmacy as well as other collections of Susan’s poems here and visit her blog about writing and publishing poetry here.

Writing Idea from Sheila
Inspired by the Poem “Going—” by Susan Rich

Susan asks, “Why shouldn’t we write about our connection to the animals in our lives?” Many of us have strong feelings about our pets who have provided constant and loving companionship. Might you think of the moments one of them came into your life, sat by you, ran away, brought some new knowledge to you or died? A scene you experienced with them during that time?

Think about the way Susan doesn’t mention that her subject is a cat and chooses actions that although they are catlike, don’t hit us over the head with “cat.” They are gentle images, sensual. We feel the love between the two. When you write of a pet, allow in, as Susan does, the specifics of the animal’s movements and interests, but without overdoing the description. Choose the essence, the specific (finches, window frames, the knocking of the head). See what arrises as you keep listing what the animal seems to be interested in doing. When you are done, see if you might find a title that is a participle (-ing ending on a verb).

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Annette Spaulding-Convy is a Seattle area poet who co-founded Two Sylvia’s Press and has served as co-editor for Crab Creek Review.

It’s Just Hypocrisy Needling Me
by Annette Spaulding-Convy

For thirty-three nights I vigiled outside San Quentin,
cupping white votive candles for death
row inmates because Jesus wouldn’t kill
anyone, not even the hypothetical rapist raping
His hypothetical daughter on the desert’s edge.

And one morning I protested on a rock outside
the Nevada Test Site, arms linked with other Sisters,
our veils wind-lifted, one black banner
sucking in sun and collateral radiation.

Now, I’m remembering the June I stopped being a nun.
I’m remembering the May I started having babies.
Maybe it’s spring that makes me harsh, nursing
cracked nipples, vaginal stitches, those Amnesty
International letters tossed in the recycle bin.

Where is that life I built from altar rails and pale wafers,
the spouseless, childless pew from which I loved
everyone so cleanly, a sort of scoured compassion?

Just today, I find myself worrying about squirrels
hawk-hunted in my yard, but hating the hypothetical
forty-something-sex-offender down the road
eyeballing my daughter as she walks to school.

So what if he’s living with his mother because she’s on chemo.
So what if the sand a thousand miles away keeps exploding.

— from In Broken Latin

Annette writes about the poem:

I think “It’s Just Hypocrisy Needling Me” is one of my favorite poems from In Broken Latin (a collection about the five years I spent as a Roman Catholic nun in the San Francisco area) because it speaks to the conflict I feel between “self” and “society.” I have found that this theme comes up especially when I talk to other women, who like myself, are mothers. As idealistic younger women, we were involved in social justice issues; we attempted to cultivate a sense of universal compassion and empathy toward all individuals. And then strangely there was a transformation within us as we began to raise children—suddenly the world we had loved and tried to better became a world filled with dangers and uncertainties. The streets we had previously walked, chatting with the homeless, now seemed frightening to traverse with children. The time we had for causes and charities became more focused on our families and our personal needs and jobs. So for me, this poem captures that conflict I still feel and expresses the sadness at the passing of my once vibrant idealism.

You can order In Broken Latin and see other books by Annette here.

Writing Idea from Sheila
Inspired by the Poem “It’s Just Hypocrisy Needling Me” by Annette Spaulding-Convy

Can you think of a way you were, of a time that something captured your interest and your passion, but is now something you have moved away from? Can you write about then using dates, or specifics of the times or the amount of time you spent at what you did–nights, months, springs? What do you do now? Might you take a turn in your writing from then to now? What might you ask? What might you be thinking of? What might you remember?

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Ellaraine Lockie is a San Jose, CA poet whose work has received eleven Pushcart Prize nominations. She is a professional paper maker and instructor of paper making.

Stiff
by Ellaraine Lockie

The jaw drops
after his last breath
The nurse says hold it shut
so it doesn’t freeze fallen

And the eyes she says
Finger force them closed
Easier on the relatives
A living look
As though he’s resting
in his beloved rose garden

We wrestle with the ring
Second-skin stuck on finger
Already curled in death claw
Rock hard but glass fragile
I wonder if it breaks
would blood still spurt
Not so nice for the relatives

We wash private parts
with warm water
Why warm I wonder
on a cold cadaver

The relatives won’t know
And they won’t see
the stiffened organ
Old age flaccidity
dilated in death
I wonder do I hold
that down too

The nurse says maybe
he’s too lifelike now
But not alive enough
for the daughter
Who stares out the window
at the rose garden

— from Blue Ribbons at the County Fair

Ellaraine writes of this poem:

“Stiff” is my favorite poem. It keeps alive the honor I received when I observed and assisted the death of a dear friend’s father. It also exemplifies the kind of poem I strive to write: well crafted, concise with no unnecessary words; one that uses poetic devices and a creative ending that brings the poem full circle.  I also try to find lighter, and often humorous, moments in even the most solemn situations.  I think humor is undervalued, not only in literature, but in life.  And yet it’s nearly always there as antidote if we just look for it.

You can view the list of Ellaraine’s books, both poetry and nonfiction, here. And you can read some more of her work online.

Writing Idea from Sheila
Inspired by the Poem “Stiff” by Ellaraine Lockie

Think of the most emotionally difficult tasks you have been involved in. Choose one of the tasks and think about who was with you, what you said to them, they to you, and what you were asked or saw to do. If you were alone in the situation think about who was not with you and what surrounded you if not people. Start a poem by recalling the beginning for you of doing the task. See what develops as you write from the scene of yourself involved in accomplishing the difficult task. Was there a gift then or later in the actions you took? Let that enter the poem through its images. If you find something humorous in the difficult situation don’t shy away from including it.

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Another big thank you this week, this time to poets Susan Rich, Annette Spaulding-Convy and Ellaraine Lockie.