Today marks the 8th day of National Poetry Writing Month.
An invitation has been extended to poets to ‘stop and smell the roses’. To celebrate and practice their craft by writing a poem a day for the whole month. There will be prompts from NaPoWriMo (for instance today’s is to write a love poem . . . but the object of the poem has to be inanimate) and poetry writers have been asked to submit their sites and blogs if they wish to participate.
I’m giving it a go (?!%|>**) and so for the next month I will be posting a poem a day here at Wonder.Meant.
I haven’t yet used one of the prompts but as a great lover of writing about love, I thought this would be a good challenge. I’ve only ever written about love for a human being, not an inanimate object.
To do so I have reminisced about a funny conversation I had on route back to parked car after dinner with my mum and boyfriend. Mum was talking about how she collected Beatles memorabilia as a kid and my partner was talking about his Star Wars figurines from back in the day. I was deep in thought as I couldn’t recall anything I had collected as a child and still had in storage somewhere.
I cant remember how exactly it was put as we were talking about the value of their collectables but a playful jib was made by my mother about my… er, um… feather, stick and pebble collection. Not really of any value of course and we all laughed; however we were laughing on the lack of monetary value as much as the fact that not everyone would like my collection (but may very much like the Beatles and Star Wars stuff). For myself though, I adore these found treasures and can tell you where I picked up each and every one of them and why they are meaningful (or at the very least, aesthetically pleasing) to me.
I watch children pick up treasures on their journeys and see them either transform them using their imaginations (sticks becoming swords but of course!) or hold them dear in their hands, a companion on their journeys, a something that says ‘look! I was out adventuring today!’…and I must admit, I get it. I don’t necessarily see a sword anymore when I pick up my sticks but I do see character, movement and life; and my kind of pebbles are round and smooth and feel positively delicious in my hands…weighted yet soft.
a love poem about inanimate objects.
I have found love
I’ve found you
Found you in the dirt
Fallen from a tree
In a place
Where I had not planned to be.
Your body and shape
Fits perfectly in my hand
I will carry you with me
As I continue to wander
Through this Melbourne park land.
You are my new best friend.