It has been eight months since I began this Poetry Daily. If I keep it up for another month will I have a book? I am amazed that I have been able to write and post every day (once or twice I was late because our internet connection was interrupted when the generator up at Corry Mountain ran out. This is rural broadband. When the electricity cuts out, so does the wifi. Our cell/mobile signals are pretty feeble so I keep my smartphone inintelligent.) I have managed it juggling workshop prep and classroom time, migraine headaches and family bereavements. Not to mention the soap opera and tragedy of the daily world news. I do consider stopping from time to time. But it is rather fearful to contemplate what would my morning routine be like without poetry practice. I consider that I could just keep it up and not post. But the posting bit has been an important component of keeping me honest. And at it. Would I be as disciplined without it.
But I do need to carve out some editing time. These poems are written fast and furious. They could be made better with time and judicious changes or cuts or additions. For that I need time, which in 2019 has been a bit of an acrobatic act. I have made a promise to complete a poetry collection manuscript by the year’s end. Half the year is nearly gone already! I do realise that I need to come to some decision whether or not the Poetry Daily may need to become a Weekly to allow me the thinking time to pull that off.
But I digress from the Poetry Daily for this Monday. The new poetey form tried out this morning comes from France, although John Keats dabbled with it. The dizain is a 10 x 10 poem – ten lines of ten syllables each. It has a ababbccdcd rhyme scheme. The subject is the eternal conversation topic, the weather. Those of us who live in the British Isles never tire of. I once was walking down the main street of Drumshambo during a St. Swithin’s curse of a rainy spell. I met a stranger, “Desperate weather!” She shouted it against the torrent. All I could respond was, “Aye!” To ensure a fine day for our wedding in a marque three years ago I adopted the local custom of putting out an Infant of Prague statue. In a summer that had been lacklustre we had the most brilliant sunny day. Oh weather gods, how kind!
The Weather
We never cease to talk about weather.
How we have four seasons all in one day.
That it is wise, don’t you think, to tether
the lawn furniture. It’s Force 5. But, hey!
I suppose it gives a party cachet
carrying on come what May, despite flood
or hurricane or ankle deep mud.
Weather builds character, resiliance!
Plans lamented. Visitors stranded.
We live in hope. The weather laughs at us.
Copyright 2019 Bee Smith
Sojourning Smith 