So October is behind us, Halloween is over, and November is starting. That means I now have to wait another year to indulge in almost endless horror movies, and it is high time I get back to reading and writing. It also means it’s National Novel Writing Month or “NaNoWriMo” as somebody decided to make up.
I’m diving in (with, admittedly, a head start) by continuing on with my story. But to keep things interesting I am going to be tracking my progress and giving a concerted push to try and have a finished draft done by the end of the month.
In the meantime, as you may have noticed from the weeks that pass between posts, I’ve been procrastinating. And I decided if I must procrastinate, at least I can do so by writing something. So below is a poem I worked on a week or two ago to try and keep things moving. It’s not quite done, I kind of like this one but feel like it’s undercooked. I like the idea of it, but I also feel like it’s a little too complicated. Still, I need to get something posted tonight–the goal is to post something at least once a week during the month of November, and launch day is a big one. So, here goes:
Three days, lost in deep Alaska.
My nylon pack, a bright and cheerful blue,
felt filled with crushing lead. And as
these weak knees buckled
with every step, each wretched gasp
of late fall’s wind raked my naked eyes
with flecking shards
My hands turned grey
and stiff and clumsy. The
forest, silent, save for rasping breaths
that left a wake of blooming vapor.
Once green leaves cracked
beneath a powder dust of frost.
And I considered the lie of a warm hearth
hiding beyond the farthest trees.
Instead, I found a sacred place
of frosted plants, some long dead,
others struggling for survival
in errant shafts of yellow light.
And among them, the body
of a fawn, frozen, black eyes open,
its fragile legs twisted
like knotted chord.
I’m drawn to the marble eyes,
glazed with crystline frost.
I shift the pack on my shoulders.
I shrug it to the ground.
I kneel there by the pitiful fawn and
know that it will watch the glade
until spring’s thaw.
I close my eyes.
Inhale the sharp, chill air.
And resolve to rest.