I’ve been reading Natalie Goldberg’s book Writing Down the Bones for what seems like forever. In a lot of ways it’s a book that warrants taking time: I read one to two chapters of one to two pages each and while I’ve dog-eared, underlined, and starred all sorts of inspiring and motivating tidbits of advice and writing practices and exercises, I often set the book down after those one to two chapters and I don’t always do the writing exercises Goldberg so fittingly recommends we do, as her readers.
But this time I did!
In the chapter “A Sensation of Space,” before she totally blows your perception of a haiku out of the water, Goldberg writes:
Try this: write a series of ten short poems. You only have three minutes to write each one; each one must be three lines. Begin each one with a title that you choose from something your eye falls on: for example, glass, salt, water, light reflecting, the window. Three lines, three minutes, the first title is “Glass.” Without thinking, write three deft lines. Pause a moment. Do another. Three minutes, three lines.
So here are my ten poems of three lines each written under a total of thirty minutes (it ended up taking me about a minute per poem, though I don’t think the point is to rush through it as fast as possible), and I didn’t even edit them so keep that in mind when you find them to be either absolutely terrible or incredibly genius, ok? Ok.
Glass
A broken wristwatch
an opened window
the mirror I avoid.
Fan
Without the wind
we’re all just stale air
breathing in what’s been left behind.
Orange
Tangy, juicy, hold the pulp.
Who said poetry must rhyme?
A poem is the fruit on your tongue.
Cat
Fat cat, black and white cat,
flicking tail cat
what are you meowing at?
Brick
Dusted dull dark blocks
stacked in disorder, uneven,
the strength of structure.
LP
Let’s put on a record from before.
Forget the clock that hangs by the door.
Listen to the whistle and the crackle.
Words
Write me a postcard
before you move across country and city
to escape.
Dust
With a resolve I stand before myself
shake free from the layers of
whatever the opposite of joy is.
Might
A powerful force of strength
or a wilting promise I meant to keep.
Defer to the mountains, I say.
College-Ruled
Running out of lines
running out of time
what else are margins for?
Thank you for reading ❤
