The adventure continues, and what an incredible couple of weeks we've enjoyed in the poetry and writers' art community here in Southwest Colorado. With Old Man Winter sneaking out of the area, there's more activity happening above ground: Poetry Open Mics, Storytelling, Film Festivals, Writers Groups Meetings, Poetry Gatherings, Poetry Readings, and Poetry Exhibits. And Springtime is going to be crazy active!
Brooke Smith's Writer's Group, "TYPESET: No rules, just writing," meets on the first Monday of the month at the Pine River Library in Bayfield. This past Monday's meeting was excellent, with a great topic, lively discussions, and members sharing their work with the group. This group is open to all who are published, unpublished, interested in becoming published, love writing, want to start writing, or just want to listen to writers sharing their experiences in their profession.
On Wednesday, March 6th, in Durango, the Word Honey Poetry Writing Workshop took place at The Hive on Main Avenue, Downtown Durango. It was well-attended and lively, offering a great opportunity for poets and authors to share their creative ideas. Meetings occur every other Wednesday. On March 20th, the meeting is held during the annual Durango Library Poetry Open Mic Event. If you haven't experienced this exciting happening, it's not to be missed! Talk about talent to be shared with our community. Sponsored by Durango Public Library and Word Honey at The Hive and Hosted by Spenser Snarr and Alex Vick. The two always put together a great event! I'm definitely going! Hope to see you all there. Listen to the Poet – Be the Poet… Your night to shine!
Thursday, March 7th, marked the second Storytelling Event at the Cortez Cultural Center, where all Storytellers and Story Listeners were welcomed. This was just ahead of the Raven Narratives presented in Cortez on the 8th and Saturday the 9th in Durango, but both shows were sold out.
March 14th, Thursday, hosts the Still Poets Society Poetry Workshop at Fort Lewis College, Education Business Hall, Rm 113. This is one creative group of poets who are welcoming and provide guidance in poetry building in a safe and comfortable environment.
March 20th is the monthly meeting of the 4 Corners Writers Group at the ZU Gallery in Downtown Cortez, another well-attended and represented writers' group. All are welcome regardless of genre or level of writing experience. 6-8pm, 48 W. Main Street.
MARCH 20TH DURANGO LIBRARY POETRY OPEN MIC. BE THERE!!!!!
March 21st is Ally Rennell's next Poetry Open Mic at Sustainable Good, Downtown Durango. What an event this is becoming, Last month it was Standing Room Only, but so worth it! As we get closer, I will give you details. Just plan to get there early for seating.
Word Honey and the Durango Library are arranging a Poetry Exhibit all month long in April. The theme: "Personal Identity. Who are you? Who have you been? Who do you want to be?" Poetry submissions are due no later than March 20th. Submit your one-page, typed piece to Spenser Snarr at Durango Library spenser.snarr@durangoco.gov or to Alex Vick at The Hive alex@hivedgo.org. Come be a part of this really creative event for the community!
LISTEN TO THE POET – BE THE POET.
Week 10 Poetry Releases:
REFLECTION
I looked in the mirror today
just to see what I could find.
Where once a tanned, young face stood
now stared back the grizzled battles of life.
Mariana’s Trench wrinkles
and crow’s feet winging their way
into bird’s nest temples.
Gray hair had grown at supersonic speed
often waking me at night
with the roar of their screaming engines.
I practiced smiling.
You cannot practice smiling
because you either smile when you’re happy
or you can’t.
I practiced frowning
and the muscles of my face
frowned with delight and comfort.
The same comfort
as sliding my feet into toasty warm slippers or
wearing my favorite old Jeans. Or
the memories
of you.
I’d frowned for so many years
my face rejected
every attempt at anything else.
Gray hairs erupted from my eyebrows
like the vine of a Wander Jew with no
green thumb to guide its progress.
Here too, the rusty screams in my ears
always stunned to harvest two-inch renegade
hairs from my drooping lobes.
So, sad and paranoid filled fears of other
failing body parts put me on a path
of stark discovery: standing naked,
my reflection terrifyingly sad to bear;
time,
weather,
gravity,
battles won and lost along my path,
irreparable scars of a fading life
are of such little consequence.
No longer trophies of conquest or loss.
Where once a mighty chest stood proud
now making its escape for the floor, realization
setting in
to be taut,
and impressive
as it once was, to me, has deserted us
seeking glory elsewhere.
My 6-pack,
now a barrel.
My youthfully proud broad shoulders
sag under the weight of
Wednesday’s wet laundry
drying on the line.
Somewhere,
somehow,
every joint in my body
had been invaded by
arthritic termites
eating away at the
shell of my core.
I move slower.
There’s no reason to run, or stoop down
leaving the lucky penny for someone else
to wish upon.
But I miss
the most
is dancing
with you.
We embraced upon
dance floors
around the world,
falling in love
all over again,
every night.
But I still have the music
and the memories of you
and that makes me
smile
POACHER
You made the mistake of injecting
our relationship with a spearhead
of jealousy just to see what would happen.
I was your prey, out of season
selfishly stalked,
unsuspecting game.
I was the game
of your unwarranted hunt.
Never giving you doubt of the depth
of my feelings for you still you took aim
letting fly that poisonous spearhead
striking its mark…
thus, beginning a slow agonizing death to us.
Your tearful apology could not
keep our collective soul
for its unwarranted demise.
When you fired that shot you couldn’t stop it
your moment of realization struck home!
There you stood over the dying carcass
of a once fulfilling love affair.
You made the mistake of injecting
our relationship with a spearhead
of jealousy just to see what would happen.
NOT A STRANGER TO ME
I saw him standing
looking (staring)
into the storefront display,
he wasn’t window-shopping
more introspective.
His fashion sense belied
the showcase before him,
long hair, a haunting reminder
of the ’60’s,
yet, standing straight
almost arrogant
not interested in impressing anyone.
What did the smirk
on his face reveal?
A smile?
Indifference?
He looked up – Inquisitive!
Keeping his back to the public;
Trusting?
Disbelief?
An enigma!
He didn’t look unfriendly
more…unapproachable.
I could almost see his mind at work,
feel what he was feeling.
Suddenly, a child ran to his side,
picking up the child tenderly in his arms…
Then I looked into the store window
at my grandchild
in my arms.
I saw my whole world.
A MURDER OF CROWS
Contemptuous
caws, a murder of crows.
Timely insults thrown between
telephone poles skirting country roads.
Dares,
double dares
casually bantered about
challenging each other to be
first to feast on the freshly departed
squirrel ceremoniously splattered on the
asphalt who failed to heed the grammar school
street crossing lessons and speeding school busses.
Looking left,
looking right, failing
to look left once again the
errant squirrel met its fate so
quickly and unexpectedly it still
thinks it is crossing the road in search
of buried pine seeds on the other side of the lane.
There should be
signs posted warning
drivers “Caution: Oblivious
Squirrels Ahead. Reduce Speed!”
The gathered
crow community
found this not only
entertaining but also
an oasis of road kill that
pleased their ravenous palates.
Why such discussion
of first dibs for fresh meat?
Logistically whichever crow is
first to feed it runs the chance of
his brothers in feathers failing to warn
of oncoming perpetually speeding school buses,
something the crow community longingly revels in.
After all, a good prank is priceless, even to the seriousness
of a murder of crows.