Poems. Ask the person closest to you if they enjoy poetry, and you may see a smile on their face. Or a cute smirk.
On the likability scale, I’d rate poetry as the fruitcake of desserts. Flavors are like black licorice. Lunch included liver and onions. Some people prefer it. Some individuals don’t.
I became a writer in May 2019 after a few stories I had written about my mother were shared on Facebook. In September of the same year, my father would have turned 100. I wrote about his life and shared it on my dottingmyteas website.
My first newspaper column appeared a few months later. Thank goodness for hometown newspapers that provide a platform for writers to publish their work.
I know one thing about writers: they encourage one another. They will answer questions. They will edit and critique. They’ll function as a second set of eyes.
A few of my friends who aren’t writers but are good at nudging started encouraging me to publish my short stories in books. I didn’t want to invest the time it would take to publish a book, but their nudges and prods got me curious about how it was done. Where do you start? How are books published?
My late brother Stevie, who had Down syndrome, enjoyed watching the moon. He had nicknames for the moon and was not afraid to tell those around him what was happening in the skies each evening. If you didn’t know what a banana moon was before meeting him, you’d know now.
I attempted to incorporate the words I wanted to say about Stevie’s habit of keeping his gaze fixed on the skies into a story. But the words took hold of me and transformed themselves into a poem. This appears to be what happens when fiction writers claim that their characters are doing things they did not intend.
“Moon Watcher” is one of two poems from my Stevie book. I wonder how many readers skimmed those pages. Or did an angel from above encourage them to read it? Perhaps they heard a whisper saying it was okay to read it. It’s a Stevie type of poem.
In April, I attended a writers’ conference at the Paulding Library, where members of the Paulding Writers’ group presented on a variety of topics. It’s always helpful to hear what other writers are willing to share.
Sue, one of the speakers, gave a presentation about poetry. Her audience consisted of writers who, by nature, are rarely at a loss for words, and their poetry-related jokes made them laugh.
Sue gave us an assignment at the end of her presentation. We were to write a poem in four minutes.
It was almost lunchtime, and the smell of the freshly delivered food was all I needed to get started writing. I quickly jotted down a few lines about our love of pizza.
Sue then displayed some photos on the overhead screen that were intended to serve as writing inspiration. The image of a bicycle reminded me of the great distances we are willing to go for pizza.
I imagined a cyclist riding home. I’ve never seen one hand on the handlebars while the other is balancing the cardboard pizza box. But it could work in a poem. Or a cartoon.
For the Love of Pizza
Oh, Pepperoni Pizza, how we love you.
Sometimes hot and spicy, sometimes cool and saucy.
We’d ride our bikes for 500 miles just to find you in a box.
Just to feel the warmth of your love in our hands again.
To be reminded of your sweet, gentle touch on our lips.
Thank you, Pepperoni Pizza, for always being there.
We really love you!
That is it. That’s the best I could manage in four minutes. If I wanted to continue this poem, I could write about the cheese portion of pizza. But I’m going to leave it alone and call it done.
Everyone has heard the saying that life is like a box of chocolates, and you never know what you’re going to get. But pizza isn’t like that. With pizza, we know exactly what we’re getting. We’re going to achieve happiness.
Perhaps life’s happy ending is all about how much we cherished the little things. Pepperoni pizza. Beautiful sunrises. The moon and the sky, and how they capture our attention.
Life teaches us that our characters will not always follow the story. Days when they write themselves into situations we could not have predicted. Days when we learn to balance things we never imagined we’d have to balance and do things we’ve never seen done before in real life.
Every day is pizza day. Some days are best described as plain. Others are superior. But no matter how our day goes, there are moments in life that were not meant to be missed. Moments when we feel a nudge from above or a whisper in our ear, reminding us that this is real life. Telling us we’re here to write a poem. We are here to write our story.
