How I write poems

I make poems in many different ways. It matters greatly whether I have something to write, or I just have to write.

Let's take the second case first. If I want to write a poem but don't have anything to write about (if, for instance, it's day 14 of National Poetry Writing Month), there are several approaches I might take.

Stream of consciousness. Take pen in hand and start writing, whatever comes to mind, no matter if it's nonsense, no matter if it's awkward or stupid or embarrassing or bad grammar or style. This often provides a few starts for poems (often from slips of the pen), but almost never results in an actual poem at the moment. I always do this longhand; a keyboard, for me, interrupts the flow, and expressive penmanship aids the imagination.

Try a form, either traditional or created. The difficulty here is that I still need something to put into the form. This tactic can only be combined with a method to find matter. Often I'll copy a topic from, or write a refutation of, a famous poem. For instance, I once wrote an answering sonnet to Wordsworth's "The world is too much with us" poem, using the same rhymes. (I seldom get that academic about it, though.)

Random prompt. This involves opening a book at hazard and picking a word or sentence. I begin with this as my topic, and discover what I have to say about it. Sometimes I allow myself several tries until I find something that intrigues me. At other times, I force myself to dance with the first prompt that offers, no matter how unpromising. It's surprising what you can say about "of" when you meditate on it.

Ask my body. I write about immediate sensations -- the cat grouching in the hallway, the smell of nachos, my aching feet. Sense leads to memory and emotion, and before I know it, focusing on reality has led me to write something real. When it works.

Ask memory. This approach can be subdivided, but I'll spare you the extra paragraphs. The events of the past day, week or month -- recollections of someone or something I've lost -- childhood pleasures and griefs, all provide matter. Flipping through my journals (external storage) can turn up things I've forgotten I'd forgotten, though I found them worth recording.

Doodle. I don't mean verbal doodling, I mean pictoral doodling. I usually start with a circle, but sometimes with a blob or meandering line. Add curve to line, dot to curve. Sometimes figures emerge, sometimes the shapes remain abstract. But usually at some point I find myself adding words to the doodle. (It may be just letters at first, as my language mind dips a toe into the ink.) And the words start to come together around a mood. And something made of words begins to wriggle its way out.

What are some of the approaches when I do have something to write about? That depends on what my starting point is: a phrase, a theme/topic, an image, or a feeling.

A feeling. This is almost a don't-have-anything-to-write-about situation, except not at all. I do have something to write about: a mood. Usually it's been building over days of not writing, like storm clouds piling up. Now what I need to do is find an image for the feeling. I nearly always reject the first few that surface: they come from the clearance shelf at the poetry-writing box store. When I find the right one, I know by the way the world flips. Instead of the mood having me, I have the mood, and I can see it clearly. I've named the monster.

An image. This is the reverse of the above. I have the image, now I have to find the feeling or meaning within it. The source could be something observed that worries at my brain, or a dream, or something that arose suddenly in my waking mind. My approach here is usually tentative. I write the image itself as clearly and completely as possible, then start casting around for -- anything. Another image that goes with it. A significance nestled within it. A story that goes around it. This might be the seed most likely to die in the ground.

A topic or theme. I have no shortage of intellectual or moral subjects to write about, and I have no quarrel with didactic poetry. Politics is a rich vein, but it imperils my blood pressure. There's my ongoing bestiary (with existing entries on the common grackle, the squirrel, and the pill bug, among others). I am an amateur but enthusiastic philosopher. But how does one write about these things without getting preachy or pedantic? (Not by outlining first, I can tell you that much.) In theory, I try to find the emotion (which might be humor) in the topic; to focus on concrete particulars; and to do justice to the complexity and messiness of the real world. In practice, I write down everything I can think to say about the topic, then excise huge chunks and rearrange what's left until I think I have a poem.

A phrase. Many of my poems start with a phrase or line that comes to me from I know not where. It nags at me, and won't leave me alone until I've given it company. As often as not, I cut out this phrase in revision, because it's become either superfluous ("Here's what I'm writing about") or irrelevant (the poem took off in a different direction).

The above is how I think I write poems, but it might be far from the reality. I don't look over my shoulder while I work. If I did, I would start writing to please me, and that would ruin everything.