Recipe to make a poet

Recipe to make a poet:

  • 1 part love of language
  • 2 parts observational skills
  • Equal parts clown, philosopher and quester
  • heaping scoops of curiosity
  • pinch of pain
  • dash of stuff that leaves scars
  • an ounce or ten of the stuff that ‘builds character’
  • level serving of courage

mix in tears and sweat until a soft dough forms

put dough under pressure until it is compact

roll out until thin enough to see the words through

Allow dough to rest and reform to an organic shape

Bake in real life, with variations of hot to warm, and

periodically freeze, thaw and toss around.

Leave it to rest and pull apart to reveal poetry.

And what is left is the poet. Put this in a warm place.

Let it rise again and create more poetry.


Poets are like grandma’s mystery dough.

Lots of cool stuff with no real measure

except to do it until it looks or feels

just about right. Then add a pinch for

luck. Good luck, bad luck or no luck.


Each scar says, “I survived”. Each tear

says, “the wound is washed clean” and

each word born into a poem is alive

and stays alive as long as the poetry

is read, even after the poet has gone

and returned to dust, their pages

brittle and their hard drives dated.


I remember typing on my mother’s old typewriter.

I remember typing in the dark, each word so formed.

Click, click, click, space, space – hard return. Space.

I remember hand written pages, bound with a red

ribbon. I remember a first professionally printed book.

Each book mark a hand placed ribbon. Each poem

a pedigree. A footnote. A place in my heart that never

seemed to get crowded with them, but grew and grew.

Now the poems come faster than I can catch them.

And some days they don’t come at all. Those days

are the most frightening – have I lost my senses?

Have I lost my words? Then I rub an aching scar.

Then I see an old photo. Or touch a page. Read a

blog of someone’s poetry. And the muse is back.


A photographer takes the photos, catches the moments.

A poet is the one who writes the story on the back of

those moments in time. For one to see, for many or

sometimes none. Each blink a snapshot, a 1000 words.

Each 1000 words boils down, breaks down into what?

Poetry! The words that fill the spaces between each

photo in the stack. The words that fill the spaces.


Anthony has us talking about evolving as poets, our process or what makes us the poets we are today.  I don’t remember a time when I didn’t think in poetry or wish to capture the words in a certain order or frame to make the images in my mind visible in word form. In photo, and in word, it is a part of the fabric of me.  My husband used to say, and still does, if you want to know who I am read my poetry. I’m pretty open about things in poetic form!  Enjoy, and stop by dVerse to see what the other amazing poets have shared. And share your own. And leave some love. Be a part of our community in an interactive way. 


It might be hard to believe.

The person you know here

has the power of invisibility!

I can fade away in front of

your eyes. Not seen or heard.

Sometimes I am loud I know.

Bright colors. Big ideas.

Opinions and passions.

Too often though I choose

to fade away from those 

who don’t understand me.

I’m weird. I know. Stranger.

My faith, my ideas, my love.

It doesn’t make sense to you.

But it it perfectly sane to me.

This wild ride I choose to live.

From you so much is invisible.

You should do this. That. ?

Why would I settle for the

safe route, paved and marked?

The unmarked trail. The road

pioneers dare to break in the

wilderness. That’s for me!

Settle down they say. Grow up.

Stay alive! Grow older. Wiser.

Dance to music only we can hear.

You sing the song to my heart.

Our path invisible to those

who only know marked roads.

The rat race would have us

die in the starting blocks.

Living on old safe cheese.

I go. I smile. I fade away.

Taking my colors with me.

The riot of sounds too.

I’ll happily leave you

with your safe palettes.

Me, I’m painting as I go.

No paint by numbers.

Don’t stay in the lines!

Life a living art, alive.

I might be invisible.

And that is safe for you.

I like being invisible.

You should try it. Yes.

It is so freeing to be

outside of the frame.

Out in the freedom.

Free to think. To feel.

No need to explain.

Being invisible isn’t

all bad, especially now

that you can see me!

Mary has us considering invisibility today for Poetics at dVerse!  If you have gotten this far, then I suggest you ‘select all‘ to read the rest of the poem. You know, the INVISIBLE part! 🙂  Join us! Come on by. Share some poetry. Read some poetry. Leave love. Always leave love. 

Sketch Poetry


New sketch book remains blank and so very new.

Chalk board with chalk beckons me to play.

Lego Movie song ear worm sings loud 

everything is awesome, everything is cool

Lego Movie game with wild west music

laughing boy while daddy naps in the sun

everything is awesome, everything is cool

I play in the chalk, promising not to erase 

cats chase bird shadow shows on the blinds

a dog sleeps, tongue out, dreaming dreaming 

another windchill warning day

with the sun warmly laughing at us

teasing with thoughts of spring while

the polar vortex twists us in frozen knots

I long for paints, colored pencils and flowers.

Ugh winter be gone ye shall not last 

that is truth, and in it the seed of a lie

for winter always returns, she is like that

frozen bird song as magpies eat apples

I let myself dream of things to come

and wonder is it the cold medication

giving me visions and wonders of spring

or am I really seeing an end to

cabin fever  the cows and horses

steam in the cold sunshine and look

at me like it is my fault that spring

isn’t tempering this winter yet.

Grandma would be proud of me

I feed them all, tame and wild, so

maybe our wait won’t be so hard.

everything is awesome, everything is cool


Claudia asked us to sketch a poem, perhaps even use a sketch of our own, and not edit or fuss at it. Just let it flow and be. This is just what I did. Enjoy. Stop by dVerse to see what the other amazing poets have contributed today. And please share your own. And leave love. Always leave love.

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