Writing a novel has its own pleasures and pains. It takes a long, long time. I relished writing my novel The Lost Books-Romance and Adventure in Cornwall. I’m having a harder time with its sequel. Poetry is not necessarily easier, though it is much shorter. One reason I am so fond of poetry is that it can tell a large “story” in just a few stanzas.

     I once interviewed poet and novelist Marge Piercy (prolific author of many books of both genres.), who told me she writes poetry to discover what she feels and fiction what she thinks. This seems to be true for me as well. As I write fiction, I have been surprised how characters and their actions reveal my own deeply held beliefs. I find my poetry often brings up deeper feelings.

     I am going to submit the poem below to Writers Digest Poetry Contest. I have no expectations. All writing is subjective in the reading/judging.  A poet might find on the other end of the process, say, a judge who loves lyric phrases, or lots of alliteration. A judge may love or hate your subject matter; may prefer rhymed couplets, or sonnets; brevity and concision. I like all these devices, but I must admit I do like wrangling with the straitjacket of  haiku. Give me a poem worth reading in just three lines, 17 syllables! 

     Polishing up a poem and submitting it encourages faith in myself as a writer. And by entering a contest, a poet can pretty well be assured that at least one other person will read it (a little poet-gallows humor).

Cloudland

The clouds spread all above, all around us

as we drive the backroads of Northern Michigan.

Cloud barges. Floating pillow clouds.  

Fluffy animal clouds. 

The brightest ones glow

white as sunlit swans on the lake.

Angels spin them from heavenly thread.

“Do you remember their names?”

 I ask my daughter. We both admit 

 we have forgotten, though I do recall

Cumulous, a friendly word I like.

A little stranger cloud nudges in – 

gray as the lake on a gray day.

But driving through cloudland, 

through forests and farms and lakes 

with the land full of apple trees 

putting out fruit, blueberries for sale

 at roadside stands, everything green, 

ripening in a short season  –

the air the way we remember ,

 the pure air of long ago – my daughter

 and I are happy for a time.

Not worrying about the dark clouds

That are coming.