{"id":5662,"date":"2013-07-01T00:00:02","date_gmt":"2013-07-01T04:00:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=5662"},"modified":"2013-07-01T09:28:35","modified_gmt":"2013-07-01T13:28:35","slug":"how-to-write-a-poem","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/how-to-write-a-poem\/","title":{"rendered":"How to Write a Poem"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Poem_585x585\"<\/a><\/p>\n

How To Write A Poem<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You start, predictably, with your past;<\/p>\n

gather it in a large pile<\/p>\n

and throw it all away.<\/p>\n

Despite what everyone thinks,<\/p>\n

you will have no use for it.<\/p>\n

Take a warm bath with no soap; just<\/p>\n

watch your skin undulate<\/p>\n

beneath the clear water.<\/p>\n

This is part of the cleansing process,<\/p>\n

emotional and physical,<\/p>\n

but you could have guessed that.<\/p>\n

Be still. Call an old friend and tell<\/p>\n

them what you\u2019re doing now. Focus<\/p>\n

entirely on the present.<\/p>\n

Then, turn off all electronic devices.<\/p>\n

Grab a sheet of paper<\/p>\n

and a Number Two pencil.<\/p>\n

Write down the first thing that comes<\/p>\n

to your mind for the next 20 minutes.<\/p>\n

This will resemble a list.<\/p>\n

Drink plenty of fluids \u2013 preferably spring water<\/p>\n

from a mountainous source. Travel<\/p>\n

there and bottle it yourself for added<\/p>\n

impact. Stay away from bugs<\/p>\n

but try not to kill any of them;<\/p>\n

it will destroy the karma<\/p>\n

that you are now creating.<\/p>\n

Rearrange your furniture.<\/p>\n

Feng shui is old but new again.<\/p>\n

See the world from a new perspective \u2013<\/p>\n

feel free to pick anything reasonable.<\/p>\n

Be safe. Mention my name.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t stop writing until your fingers<\/p>\n

literally quit because of the pain.<\/p>\n

It shouldn\u2019t be for a very long time.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Something I Should Say About Why I Stopped Listening to Country Music<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You may remember holding hands<\/p>\n

at the fair that autumn of our senior year,<\/p>\n

a local band playing a country song<\/p>\n

about finding a lost love filling the air<\/p>\n

around us. I didn\u2019t realize it at the time<\/p>\n

but everything about our lives was<\/p>\n

becoming a country song, from my pickup<\/p>\n

truck I used to drive to the boots you used<\/p>\n

to wear. We thought of staying put in our<\/p>\n

small town forever, having kids young,<\/p>\n

taking a job at a factory, walking around<\/p>\n

this fair every year and feeling complete.<\/p>\n

We dreamed our small dreams. But the band\u2019s<\/p>\n

next song revealed an inconvenient truth,<\/p>\n

mentioning something about regrets,<\/p>\n

and, briefly, I felt a regret that day,<\/p>\n

that I could not stay in town for good,<\/p>\n

and then certain features of your personality<\/p>\n

started to bother me, including your boots.<\/p>\n

I felt this sudden need to drive my pickup<\/p>\n

truck off a cliff and everything at the fair<\/p>\n

lacked appeal, even the food. All I could<\/p>\n

think of was my future self dressed in a suit<\/p>\n

and tie, accompanied by this remarkable<\/p>\n

woman, listening to a symphony in some<\/p>\n

foreign city play Brahms or Handel, two<\/p>\n

composers I hadn\u2019t ever heard of, but<\/p>\n

beautiful sounds that I knew existed,<\/p>\n

in a world without regret, or pickup trucks,<\/p>\n

a world without a trace of our plans<\/p>\n

of misdirected youth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dogs Riding In Cars, A Brief Analysis<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The dog on the passenger side<\/p>\n

is a curious thing, appearing<\/p>\n

so human there, its head<\/p>\n

against the headrest, body like<\/p>\n

a statue on the cloth seat.<\/p>\n

The driver looks over, and they<\/p>\n

could be discussing which Spanish<\/p>\n

wine they will have with dinner \u2013<\/p>\n

much different than, say, the<\/p>\n

nervous breed, slobbering<\/p>\n

across the backseat, hopping<\/p>\n

around from window to window<\/p>\n

in a futile effort to escape, or<\/p>\n

the dog that likes to stick its<\/p>\n

nose out the window to taste<\/p>\n

the rush of air each time he goes<\/p>\n

for a ride. But these are nothing<\/p>\n

compared to the toy breeds<\/p>\n

that tend to inhabit rear window<\/p>\n

space, sunning themselves beneath<\/p>\n

the angled glass, alternately<\/p>\n

napping and watching the world<\/p>\n

unfold behind them, content<\/p>\n

not knowing of what\u2019s to come.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Moving In With Martha Stewart<\/i><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n

It was a big step,<\/p>\n

cohabitating, she called it,<\/p>\n

something her friends warned<\/p>\n

her against, encouraging<\/p>\n

her to wait a little longer, if<\/p>\n

she were to do it at all, don\u2019t<\/p>\n

be rash. But we were in love<\/p>\n

and her guard was down as it<\/p>\n

should be when you\u2019re in love<\/p>\n

so we bought the antique Cape<\/p>\n

(her idea)<\/p>\n

after seeing the house only once;<\/p>\n

we started imagining life there,<\/p>\n

a warm kitchen, a good movie<\/p>\n

on a Sunday afternoon, a glass of wine<\/p>\n

on the counter, morning lovemaking.<\/p>\n

But on the day we were supposed<\/p>\n

to move in and decorate,<\/p>\n

everything I knew about Martha<\/p>\n

changed because I didn\u2019t grasp things<\/p>\n

like color palettes,<\/p>\n

and my framed 1977 Rolling Stones<\/p>\n

poster suddenly wasn\u2019t a good fit,<\/p>\n

nor was my plasma television.<\/p>\n

There was no place to fit<\/p>\n

my clothes in these small closets,<\/p>\n

and so what if I liked potato chips.<\/p>\n

We had our first fight, but it was<\/p>\n

apparent that our whole world<\/p>\n

was collapsing on us that very day<\/p>\n

among everything<\/p>\n

that she understood<\/p>\n

and I didn\u2019t understand,<\/p>\n

vegetarian lasagnas,<\/p>\n

scented candles,<\/p>\n

and wool scarves,<\/p>\n

organic free trade coffee<\/p>\n

and design elements,<\/p>\n

terminology that was beyond me.<\/p>\n

I am a simple man, indeed, Martha.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sorry for wasting your time.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One Fantastic Ride\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I never had one<\/p>\n

as a little kid, a<\/p>\n

blue sports car bed,<\/p>\n

though every time<\/p>\n

I went to the toy store<\/p>\n

I fantasized that<\/p>\n

this time, we\u2019d take<\/p>\n

one home<\/p>\n

to set up in my<\/p>\n

room and I<\/p>\n

would ride<\/p>\n

somewhere<\/p>\n

every night<\/p>\n

in my dreams<\/p>\n

with the pretty<\/p>\n

girls in my class,<\/p>\n

all of us fitting<\/p>\n

snugly into its<\/p>\n

plastic frame,<\/p>\n

and as we took<\/p>\n

corners<\/p>\n

too fast<\/p>\n

our arms<\/p>\n

and legs<\/p>\n

touched<\/p>\n

and I got<\/p>\n

goosebumps.<\/p>\n

Now it\u2019s on<\/p>\n

someone\u2019s<\/p>\n

front lawn<\/p>\n

for free<\/p>\n

and I\u2019m much older<\/p>\n

but I want to know<\/p>\n

if I slept in it<\/p>\n

for just one night<\/p>\n

with my feet dangling<\/p>\n

off the front<\/p>\n

and my body taking<\/p>\n

up all this space<\/p>\n

if I could go<\/p>\n

back in time<\/p>\n

for a ride<\/p>\n

with those two girls<\/p>\n

whom I was<\/p>\n

always too shy<\/p>\n

to talk to<\/p>\n

and maybe<\/p>\n

get some<\/p>\n

ice cream<\/p>\n

or kiss<\/p>\n

one of them<\/p>\n

and feel her<\/p>\n

warm, brown<\/p>\n

skin.<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

David Polochanin is a teacher, poet, freelance writer, and former journalist in Connecticut. His poems have been published by\u00a0Native West Press, Toasted Cheese, Negative Suck<\/i>, and will appear in\u00a0Sentence<\/i>. His essays and articles have been published in\u00a0The Boston Globe, Providence Journal, Hartford Courant, and Christian Science Monitor<\/i>. He recently completed a writing fellowship at the Thomas J. Dodd Research Center at the University of Connecticut.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

You start, predictably, with your past;<\/p>\n

gather it in a large pile<\/p>\n

and throw it all away.<\/p>\n

Despite what everyone thinks,<\/p>\n

you will have no use for it.<\/p>\n

Take a warm bath with no soap; just<\/p>\n

watch your skin undulate<\/p>\n

beneath the clear water.<\/p>\n

READ MORE<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":154,"featured_media":5759,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,218,219,199],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5662"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/154"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5662"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5662\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5762,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5662\/revisions\/5762"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5759"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5662"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5662"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5662"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}