The Post-Workshop Poet

Originally published April 23rd, 2024.

April is National Poetry Month and to celebrate I signed up for two workshops on poetic play given by Billings local Danell Jones at my favorite store in town, This House of Books. 

My day job tends to drain the well of my creativity. I don’t have a lot left to give at the end of the workday. Then the weekends are always full of more to-dos than hours and it’s been easy to let writing become a chore. I think there’s a line somewhere between setting a writing schedule and forcing one. Perhaps it’s a line I crossed without realizing it. 

Signing up for a poetry workshop was a logical solution for trying to poke the creative part of my brain. Still, I didn’t expect what happened in the hours that followed the workshop, once I had awakened it. 

Life seemed to slow down. I didn’t feel rushed. I noticed the sound of raindrops hitting my coat as I walked to my car. I noticed a crack in a store window and wanted to run my finger along its length, curious if it was deep enough to feel and curious at how cold the glass would be in the chill weather.

I stopped to look at artwork in a shop and named my favorite. I noticed the colors of the rocks outside my front door and how rich they were doused in water. I buried my nose in a slice of jalapeno cheddar bread and squeezed its spongy center before I ate it. I noticed the challenge of the thick crust between my teeth. 

I could see the world as a poet again, for a few precious hours. The value of those hours was much greater than the cost of the workshop. It opened me up and gave me license to see the wonder in the day beyond the list of responsibilities. I’m grateful and very much looking forward to the next workshop. In the meantime, I’ve been celebrating National Poetry Month by trying to read more of it. I hope you’ll take some time to do the same this month.

You can find a bit of my poetry in my portfolio, but here’s a little snippet from my work during the workshop. The exercise was to write without thinking.

Already I’m thinking.

I’m great at thinking.

Worrying. Overthinking.

Imagining what others might be thinking

and worrying about it.

That’s one thing for which I experience no imposter syndrome.

I am absolutely a champion overthinker.

You might be under the impression

That overthinkers are well-prepared.

Ha.

That’s what I’m prepared to say about that. Ha.

I think we’re too busy thinking about what will happen

if the wind - the non-existent-on-that-particular-day wind -

blows the tree onto the house.

Thinking how we’ll clean up the mess from the fish tank exploding

and whether it will damage the books on the nearby shelf

and what the gifters of special books will say if it does and anyway

we’re too busy thinking to remember

to bring our water bottles to work

or to thaw some meat for dinner.

Walking proof that quality beats quantity.

That’s an overthinker.

Anyway that’s what I think.