Photo by Matthew Wheeler on Unsplash
How do we express the tenderness of love without using the word “tender?” How do we say that our hearts are about to explode from the thrill of a moment without telling the reader, “My heart exploded?” How do we convey that we want to “jump someone’s bones” without using this tired cliché?
Poetry is about showing, not telling. This is why we must think of images—sights, tastes, smells; kinesthetic images—movement such as limping, skipping, racing; and perhaps more important to the subject of love, physiological images such as pulse, breathing, hunger. Our images show the reader the emotion and bring the impulse alive in a fresh, unexpected way.
Even so, how do we begin to write about something as abstract, huge, and powerful as love?
We must find anchors to hold down the idea or feeling so we can look it squarely in the eyes. Anchors give us a place to write from, make this emotion palpable and real so our readers feel it as strongly as we do.
When I write, memories and nature anchor my poems. The events in my past give me experiences to write from and about. Nature fascinates me, and I was fortunate to be raised by a mother who loved being outdoors and shared this love with her children. We spent many summer vacations at the ocean. As a Girl Scout, she learned much about nature and shared this knowledge with us on hikes and other adventures.
While hikes and summer vacations are often positive experiences, love enters from our difficult and heartbreaking experiences as well. In fact, some of the most moving verse springs from heartbreak. Ironically, these broken places can be easier than happier moments to write about because we have endured so much and have a well of emotion that begs to be poured onto paper. The images, whether we realize it or not, have been building within our minds. The first poem I’m sharing from my book, Excavating Light, is “Backlight.” This poem fits into the category of what we think of as love poetry. During the early hours, my husband and I reunite in affection after a trying time of miscarriages. The dropping moon became a metaphor for our miscarriages. Even the clouds and the sky become a metaphor for my body and the tiny lives that could not last within me. The setting of the poem—the early morning darkness—meant we had to use our fingers and lips to find each other, not unlike the way the Braille alphabet, another metaphor, is used by the blind to read. Here, you see how nature is providing inspiration for my verse. At the end of the poem, the mother wren and her hatchlings appear; they are regular visitors each spring to our patio.
Photo by Paul Lehman on Unsplash
Backlight Five a.m. full moon drops,/ backlighting clouds that wander bruised sky./ Five a.m. moon falls,/ the tiny amniotic sacs unable to anchor within me./ Our stubborn bodies,/ those fallow years/ embrace now on the driveway,/ under the five-a.m. moon./ Our Braille alphabet— my lips caress your face,/ your fingers stroke the nape of my neck./ This is how we map our affection,/ our passion’s ambit as the sun rises./ Later you will tell me of the mother wren/ swooping into her nest on the patio shelf./ Hatchlings in this predatory world./ -Diana Ewell Engel, from Excavating Light
This poem presents the positive—a tender reunion after failed pregnancy attempts—and the negative—my miscarriages and the predatory natural environment the baby birds are entering—within one scene. Creative writing brings the authentic complexity of our lives to light for us as writers and for our readers.
Poetry invites us to bring a host of emotions into our writing. Our experiences and emotional lives are complex and ever-changing.
A Romantic Partner Is Not A Pre-Requisite!
Must love poems be about relationships with romantic partners? No. “Forest Language” is a love poem to nature’s wonder, to memory, and to my adventurous mother. This poem ends with a happier image than “Backlight.”
Photo by Diana Ewell Engel
Forest Language Could I run through these needle-strewn corridors/ until I reach the end of the world,/ scamper up the sycamore’s artery/ skyward into a hawk’s life?/ The trails I hiked as a girl/ echo now in walks with my mother./ Her mind ranges back to tomboy days/ jumping pear trees in high pasture orchard,/ sifting river sand for arrowheads./ We spy a great horned owl in fir tower./ Each falling leaf/ letter of resurrected joy/ landing in our path./ -Diana Ewell Engel, from Excavating Light
The ending image of the falling leaf is a note of praise to memories. Although our past experiences in nature are over, our memories live on, resurrecting the joys of those special times like leaves falling before us to seize our attention as we walk forward into the future. These leaves represent love letters from our past.
In Praise of Beach Vacations and A Happy Childhood
Perhaps you’ve heard, “Less is more?” : ) Brevity can make for vivid verse. Here is my brief last poem in this post, “Nostalgia.”
Photo by Diana Ewell Engel
Nostalgia Think back/ to long days spent/ diving into/ surf, emerging/ with mouthfuls of salt/ water, riding/ thundering foam/ into shore. Then falling/ asleep, brain emptying/ into the dark/ of your bedroom./ Breathe in night./ Listen, tide. -Diana Ewell Engel, from Excavating Light
Notice the shorter lines of “Nostalgia.” Writing a poem gives me the flexibility to vary my line length and make this love poem to the ocean and to a happy childhood memory look and feel like a dive into waves that are coming into shore, then retreating, and the dive into the dark of a bedroom. The ending image of the tide represents not only the sound of the sea tide but also the continual return of happy memories, a nostalgia that, like the resounding waves, soothe the speaker’s mind.
Finding Our Creative Writing Anchors
How do we find our anchors for writing about intense human emotions such as love? The answer is simple: Just write. Allow yourself the freedom to roam as you write—Write whatever comes to you with your focus being on the emotion you want to bring to life. As you write, your anchors will begin to appear on the page. If you are drawn to nature, images from nature will enter your writing. If the city energizes you and plays a big part in your experiences, urban images and scenes will enter. Should you be a visual artist, musician, mechanic, cook, scientist, massage therapist, etc., the language and images of your work and your unique way of seeing the world will enter your writing and bring it to life. And of course, the people, animals, and objects we love will be front and center in our love poems.
No one sees the world exactly as you do. Bring your unique perspective and experiences into your writing!
Today’s Book Pick
Excavating Light by Diana Ewell Engel, published by Finishing Line Press.
My collection of verse is about the mysterious turnings of nature and our lives, how we journey through disappointment and loss, and the resonances we gather along the way. The poems I’ve shared in this substack post are from Excavating Light. Here’s my description of my book: As I write about the wrack line I walk, the surrounding world enters – family, neighbors and friends, the textures of other cultures woven in suffering and in joy—animated by the tide, wind, trees, sleet, and a blood moon.
I hope this post has proven helpful to you and that you have enjoyed my poems.
Until next time, Seized friends, enjoy your week wherever you may be!
Doug Gillis
Your poem "Backlight' was wonderful to read. It made me think of Haiku poetry. I recently learned that Carl Sandburg's poem, "Fog," was influenced by his studying the Haiku form. Your discussion that poetry is about showing, not telling, thinking of images--sights, tastes, smells, and kinesthetic images--is required. Those images are the same as what is needed to write poems in the Haiku style.
Your lyrical poems stir up pleasant memories of the mountains and the beach. They are a pleasure to read.