So I opened my file today...

And wrote.

Well, a paragraph. Does that count? It's been the first time I've written anything since November 25th. I really want to finish, I'm starting to really like my characters... but I don't want to actually put in the work to write.

This is why I enjoy poetry. I can spend anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours writing and I have a completed piece at the end of it.

Maybe I should have tried a short story before I dove into novels.

But I do have a poem for you. I've been reluctant to post it because some people tend to read into my poetry. I suffer from an overactive imagination, so if I write about things that are depressing - it doesn't mean I'm depressed. If I write about relationship problems, it doesn't mean I'm currently experiencing any.

Although, to be completely honest, poems about relationship problems are probably inspired by past relationships. I may set them in the present, if only because the present provides a clearer setting. It's not always easy to remember details of the past even if I can recall the emotions.

So, with that said, here's a poem.

Silence

Silence stretches things

Makes them taut – like a rubber band

Frayed edges cause the band to break if stretched too thin

Silence stretches us

Each stretch stresses the edges,

Little tears that disappear once

a word, or

a touch, or

a kiss – mouth moving softly on lips, neck, collarbone…

Snaps it, snaps us, back to normal

And you can’t see the rip – so small

Tiny, really

Until silence stretches us again

And little tears grow wider

Silence is deadly

-Rodgers, 2012

The Fruits of my Labors

The following quote was taken from a student's paper.

"An analysis of this quote reveals the tone of the poem's theme, because it states a disturbing simile providing imagery for the reader."

Oh yeah. That lesson sunk in.

*headdesk*

A Poem

It's been awhile. Too long.

I actually haven't written anything for the novel yet, but I do have some poems. So here's one.

Enjoy.

Griffin

His pudgy hands always seem to be sticky

even as they clutch his new precious,

a cheap plastic toy,

topper for his watered down lemonade,

a treat that went with his unbuttered popcorn at the

Sunday matinee.

Movie watching,

it takes a lot out of a toddler.

Little legs grown heavy and slow on the walk home.

In my arms now,

his arms wrapped tightly around my neck,

baby curls grown long tickle my nose,

head beginning to nod

as my familiar gait rocks him to sleep.

My arms can’t keep up with each new growth spurt,

so mama’s boy becomes

daddy’s little man

as small bodies grow too big to be soothed at the breast.

Asleep now in daddy’s arms,

curls bounce with each step –

jumbled clouds that catch his dreams…

I can’t bear to cut them,

those baby curls.

He seeks me out after nap time,

allows me to clear away the sleep with a spattering of kisses

and his ever-sticky hands encircle my neck as a

breathy toddler voice whispers

“love oou mama”

and he brings his nose to mine for an Eskimo kiss.

I hope he never gets too big for that.

-JRodgers