Workshop of Wonderful Memories

About a year ago, I had the honor of taking a writing workshop with poet Mark Doty. Besides being a great writer, he is intelligent, funny, and an all around nice guy. As an exercise, he asked us to draw a floor plan of the first house we remember living in. Given that I hadn't lived in the Rhode Island house where I grew up in 11 years, I didn't expect to remember as much as I had. Once completed, we added at least one specific detail to each room. I could have been a unique design feature, or an item we had in the room. Step three was to choose one of those details and write a poem about it. Here is mine:

It takes up almost half the living room
With it's ugly, tan L-shape.
But to me, it's more than just a couch.
More than just an eyesore
Dying to be thrown away.
It's where I learned to read,
Where my family come together to catch up,
Where my brother and I find entertainment.
Bored on a rainy day,
We take the thick, square cushions off their frame
And build a fort.
Sorry Mom.
Can't come in with out the pass word.
Getting out of the fort, my brother knocks all the pillows on me.
I'm buried.
We both laugh as I crawl my way out of the darkness.
After I'm free, he takes a running jump
And lands on the comfy pile of pillows.
Not wanting to miss out,
I follow him.
Soon, the smell of chicken and stuffing starts to fill the air.
So we reluctantly put the cushions back in place
And start getting ready for dinner.
Leaving the couch as a couch.
For now!!

Keep in mind, this was off the top of my head and I haven't worked on it since. No, it's not a masterpiece. But it does bring back wonderful memories. Both of the workshop and of the ugly, tan couch.

more poems

Why I Write
Bored, bored, bored
With nothing to do
So I sit here writing
With my pen and notebook too
Adjectives, nouns, verbs
And maybe a rhyme
All come together
To help pass the time
Will this be a masterpiece?
Probably not
But writing this poem
Sure hit the spot


I Got The Music In Me
Caught in traffic after getting dumped,
This day could not be worse.
I finally make it home,
Ready to let the anger consume me,
To embrace the sadness.
Stumbling through my room,
I find my ipod and bring it to life.
My favorite song echoes through the headphone
For only me to hear.
After verse one, my muscles relax
I tap my feet to the beat of the chorus
And by the second verse,
I'm in full performance mode
Dancing and singing along, forgetting everything
The annoyance, the frustration, the heartache,
Gone.
Finally, the song ends.
But, it plays over and over again in my head
Like a bad commercial plays on T.V.
Except I hum instead of sigh.