Dahlias

I'm going to let you in on a secret. Today was supposed to be a poem day, but I don't have a poem ready. Poetry rarely comes easily to me. I have to be 110% gung ho for an idea before I can write anything good. And ideas are kinda hard to force. But occasionally, just occasionally, I sit down and force myself to write something good. So this is going to be a bit of an experiment. You get to be in on the creative process. I'll try to show as much of my thinking as I can. Anything could happen!

Step 1. Discard the urge to write a poem about the current weather. There's a window behind the computer, you see, and I stare off into space through it when I'm thinking hard. I've already written plenty of weather poems, anyway.

Step 2. Words, words, words. Consider locating my "Book of Words," a notebook that I write down inspiring words in, along with useful rhymes and their etymologies. So far, it has two words in it: indigo and estival. Not festival. Estival. Briefly consider writing a poem called "Estival Festival." Smile, but scrap idea. "Ode to Toad" comes to mind, but really, this is becoming ridiculous. Moving on.

Step 3. Make tea. Rummage through cupboards looking for something besides "Breathe Easy." Discover "Sleepy Time" and shrug. Put water on to boil.

Step 4. Eureka! Suppose Icarus (my moth character, not the Greek schmuck who plummeted to his death) wrote a lament? Love scorned, and all that...ah, but nah...not really feeling it. Think, think...run to check on kettle. It's boiling, but not whistling yet. Interesting. Bright yellow flowers sit beside it on the counter. They'd be a good subject for a still life painting. Heeeyy...suppose a person wrote a "still life" poem? What would that be like? (And yellow flowers are summery - maybe we could get estival in there after all!)

Step 5. Brainstorm a personality for the poem. Delicate? Abrupt? Outrageous? Google "yellow flowers." Turns out they're dahlias. Grab a pen and scribble some experimental lines.

Sock it to him, right in the retinas.
We're yeller, boys, an' we're gonna put some colour in that face. 
Rise and shine!

Shudder. Drink some tea and grab a granola bar. Food will help.


These dahlias are cut: 
they are still lifes in real life,
sunset photographs which never quite live up to splendour
like the genuine article did. 


(in the making of those four lines, the dahlias were originally one dahlia, and everything was singular. "genuine article" evolved from "real thing", because I already have "real life", which is cliche enough.)

Rework the last two lines: sunset photographs that never quite lived up to the splendor/ of the genuine article. Change "genuine article" to the prototype flower. Delete 'flower'. Change first part of the second last line again: sunset photographs that never quite bloom/ to match the splendour of the prototype.




We now have:
These flowers are cut:  (changed 'dahlias' to 'flowers' in order to save the more specific word for the title)
They are still lifes in real life,  ('lifes' seems more suitable than 'lives', so we're keeping that)
sunset photographs which never quite bloom 
to match the splendour of the prototype.


Add more lines.

still,
life in the kitchen,
in their corner by the kettle,
is nearly estival. 


In the winter, I brew tea
and they brew memory in me.


Now we have a rough sort of poem! Huzzah!

Step 6. Remove all capitals to appear avant garde and voila:

Dahlias

these flowers are cut:
they are still lifes in real life,
sunset photographs which never quite bloom to match the splendour of the prototype.

still
life in the kitchen,
in their corner by the kettle,
is nearly estival.

in the winter, i brew tea,
and they brew memory in me.

Step 7. Add a fictional author (because guys aren't supposed to be emotionally affected by flowers.)
Example: "by Isabelle Castille, author of critically acclaimed Plante's Inferno and Chlorophyllis and Chlorophilip."