Prompt for RWJ, Prompt 297

Still on writing, guys. I was just listening to Anne Lamott’s Ted Talk, “12 Truths I learned from Life and Writing”. She urged one to write “your truth, your version of things, in your own voice” and “that’s really all you have to offer us, and that’s also why you were born.” Whoa. And she also said something about trying to get your work published, to be legit you know (wink wink), to plug all the cheesy holes in your soul (I am paraphrasing) and you know what, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t plug those holes, it’s your writing that does it. Pretty much how I feel about writing. I mean, writing is so phantasmagoric, know what I mean, that it’s pretty much its own reward. So is there value in what you write, you’ve got to ask yourself that. I like this quote from Lamott too.

“I try to write the books I would love to come upon, that are honest, concerned with real lives, human hearts, spiritual transformation, families, secrets, wonder, craziness—and that can make me laugh. When I am reading a book like this, I feel rich and profoundly relieved to be in the presence of someone who will share the truth with me, and throw the lights on a little, and I try to write these kinds of books. Books, for me, are medicine.”

So can you write a poem like that…like medicine (gulp)?


One thought on “Prompt for RWJ, Prompt 297


    In the soup kitchen of novel adventures,
    a lengthy succession of the avid grasp
    empty bowls in trembling hands, begging for words
    in a book to fill their hunger.
    Weary of truth and wary of truth’s Big Lies,

    They seek out the vicarious pleasures of
    fiction, the invented plot, heroes, villains
    released from an author’s fake
    settings, characters that discover new lives
    in the readers’ euphoric unblinking.

    Thick spectacles sit awry on the bridge
    of the ladler’s pocked nose. He never looks up.
    Like an automatous dispenser of soup,
    he fills each bowl resting on the plastic tray,
    then moves on to the next.

    Famished for another book,
    Once more again, I take my chances on the line.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s