A Poem That Took a Long Time to Emerge

Honestly, this was messy. I started brainstorming this piece toward the beginning of last school year (September 2016?) when my colleague Chris and I stood peering out the window of our hallway during a passing period. However  I couldn't find the right voice. I throttled three or four muses who refused to speak to me. It came together slowly, and I habitually constructed waaaaaaaaay too many images, and I went through multiple constructs and drafts and finally, with the help of several friends, I was able to filter out a lot of excess symbols and sounds devices to come to what it is now...still not perfect...but it's enough to convey my observations that day.

 “Colliding Fronts”

A Shel Silverstein poem came to life

where the rain ended on the sidewalk,

the visibly invisible demarcation line between sun

and storm dividing the wet from the dry distinctly across the

cracked, black asphalt: waters running left,

dry land remaining right, like the second day of Creation.

Roiling clouds smashed into the invisible wall—

a stark division between gray and blue— and passed through

an unseen sieve and started to dissipate,

sun-streaked cotton unraveling as it spun farther east,

leaving the lot, the ballpark beyond soaking on the left,

the right keeping the bright light from the attic to itself.

The forecaster’s neatly patterned weather lines leaped

from the green screen of Channel Two and established boundaries

in the parking lot—a  backdrop to the shifting, changing weather patterns

manifest in a lone ninth grade girl trudging the hallway,

her swirl of inner storm partitioned off from the blue skies and carefree

clouds she so badly wanted the world to see.

Some Musing Advice

My wonderful wife pointed out an article in the Winter 2013 Humanities at BYU magazine that she thought I would be interested in.  She was write, I mean, right.  "Coaxing the Muse: Thoughts on the Creative Process" intrigued me so much that I had my 9th graders read it, annotate it, write personal reflections about Larsen's advice, their own creative processes, and how they, as students and writers and human beings are developing.  Lance E. Larsen, BYU English Professor and Poet Laureate of Utah, adapted this article from a speech he gave during a university devotional talk he gave in May of 2007.  I wish could have heard it in person.  However, I just happened to be in my classroom.  But after reading it and digesting his written version, I found the next best thing: a link to the actual speech.  Listen to it.  It's good.  However, if you don't have the time, here is the penultimate paragraph from the article:

In finishing up I want to make clear that I have merely scratched the surface of today's topic.  Creativity remains a messy, recalcitrant, but invigorating process that resists--thank goodness--my attempts to explain it.  Still, the principles we've talked about can easily be applied to our various circumstances.  First, reading widely and deeply will allow you to immerse yourself in a given field and gain expertise.  Second, establishing a daily habit of writing or similar engagement will take you into the heart of nearly any discipline.  Third, letting the writing lead you, or having faith in the mysterious process of creation, will let you tap sources beyond your own limitations.  Fourth, revising, regardless of the field, gives you the chance to revisit and improve upon early efforts, and in the process take full advantage of the perspectives of others.  Fifth, falling in love with the world and taking notes can help cultivate powers of observation otherwise left dormant.  And finally, sixth, gathering insights from other disciplines will help you see more clearly through your own lens.

I like that.  Now I just need to put it into practice more effectively.