Anatomy of poem

Last week I spent many hours captured by a peacock feather. I was brainwashed by its beauty. I also read many articles about peacocks and their feathers. I went into research mode.

All I knew about peacock feathers before launching my investigation was that the pretty ones came from male peacocks. Then I learned that peacocks lose their feathers. Who knew? I didn’t. This process is called molting. I felt so sad for the peacocks. Peacocks can walk around shedding their beautiful feathers as late as early fall.

I began to imagine a story where a woman sees a peacock strutting around with one single feather at a farmer’s market. Their eyes meet. The peacock stares into her soul and begs her to rid him of his last feather.

Would it hurt him?

Would the peacock attack her??

Would it be a crime???

Apparently peacocks regrow their feathers in time for the mating season and lose them as the mating season ends. Maybe he could not begin that process until his last remaining feather was gone, baby gone.

She plucked it off of him and took the beautiful feather home. And they all lived happily ever after.

End of story?

Well, not exactly.

It was the end of that part of the story. The time came to imagine a poem for the rest of it.

jarofpoetry.com sent out a prompt last week. This was the image prompt and the title for the prompt was The Color of my Quill.

I made a decision to write a poem. I was glad to have a new project to work on where I could have a creativite experience during all of the chaos that our world is going through right now;-/

The weekend approached.

I had known all week that I wanted to create a poem for the prompt, but it was not coming to me like I thought it would.

Now what?

I decided to walk away from the feather. I put it down on a book I have about Edgar Allan Poe. I paused for a moment, but then I questioned myself.

Was the peacock feather even a quill?

It’s my story.

My POEm. Yes.✔

Should I name my quill?

Could my peacock feather be named Edgar Allan Peacock?

It is a male peacock feather.

Poe was a male.

Then I studied the prompt again.

The color of my quill. Hmmm.

I decided to name my feather…

Edgar Allan Quill.

Now what?

What kind of poem was I going to write that was titled…

The Color of my Edgar Allan Quill?

Nothing happened.

I left the room frustrated. I thought about it all of Friday. What in heaven’s name was I thinking?

I decided not to write a poem. It just wasn’t meant to be. I started to go down the stairs…suddenly…I remembered my Edgar Allan Poe doll.

Yes. I needed a muse!

I brought him into the scene and sat him down by the quill and the book. They all looked so cozy together:-)

But then I remember thinking Edgar Allan Poe would not like the ideas that are beginning to run through my mind. In fact, Edgar might be offended. He would probably write a wicked poem or a spooky story that would frighten me…if he was still alive.

Wait.

What if he came back to life?

WHOA.

What if he came back to life as a peacock feather quill???

OMG. I sat down and the first two lines of the poem came to me.

Seriously?

Wow. After all that, all I had to show for my efforts were two lines???

I grew frustrated again. I googled Poe. At least I knew way more about Poe than I knew about peacocks. I love Poe’s creations. I have both a dark and a bright core. I simultaneously channeled my inner Poe and decided that I would have fun with the rest of my POEm😉

After many hours of study, I had an enormous supply of information. Lines of poetry began to come to me as I played around with words from his works and the playground of my inner poet. I do well with deadlines. The poem had to be submitted by midnight. It was 7: 00 pm. A few hours later the poem was finished. I was happy that my project was complete.

Then the doubts began to set in. Was my poem worthy of submission? Was it appropriate to write a fun poem about Poe during a pandemic? What if I got the virus and died in the next few weeks? Would I regret not submitting my poem? I googled the stories of many people affected by the virus. I was touched by the mini memoirs of so many precious human beings that have died this past year. So many lives have been lost all over the world, way too soon, because of the virus.

I left the internet and I posted my poem. I sighed. All that we are promised is this moment. One day at a time, just for today we are here. Maybe I was supposed to write the poem to make a few people smile during this time of war against this virus. My part was done. The rest was out of my control.

As I was falling asleep I made a decision that if by chance my poem was the one selected to be reblogged by Jar of Poetry, that I would donate the prize money to a Covid-19 charity and match the amount to another charity. I fell asleep. 💤💤💤

Guess what? Yeah!

I woke up to a lovely surprise on Easter morning.

Thank you John A Reyes at jarofpoetry.com:-) 🌻✌

Your blog and your prompts the last couple of weeks have encouraged many of us.

If you are a poet or if you want to try to write your first poem ever go to Jar of Poetry and check out the image and the words that are posted for the next submission! You have until next Saturday by midnight to submit.

What are you waiting for? Go! Life is short. Write the poem. Write the flash fiction. Write the essay. Write the novel. Write the article. Write something on your blog journal. Write your first book of speculative fiction short stories…hmmm…😉

Just write.