Studying Other Poets

July 11, 2013

I have been reading some of my poetry book collections the past week. After meeting with Hal Sirowitz on Monday, a found mentor (including his beautiful southern born wife- Minter Krotzer) I wanted to go back and discover a process for writing. They suggested, as others like Jessie Carty has in the past, I should stick with prose poetry block writing, and doing it in long hand. Ugh. Longhand is too slow for my fast paced life of computerizing. But I am giving it a go. I was inspired by a local poet whom I know, and an article written about him and a poem he wrote. Here is what I came up with from today’s drafting…

A Weed By Any Other Name

A weed by definition
is a plant that grows
where it’s not wanted

– Hank Kalet, Tent City Poem Article

My parents should have been bohemians. They
should have named their children after star constellations
and plants; instead of naming us from kings and queens. We were poor,
with little possessions, and ruled over no lands. And they both
enjoyed the era where free love and dressing like hipsters was popular.

They both wore funky clothes along with big hair that flew
freely on the wind. And my father had those long
pork chop side burns like we saw in the Easy Rider movie.
Before big guns of hairspray took over and nailed everything
down. I always hated my boring name when I was younger. Today
names like apple, north, and dandelion are popular. So many girls
in my youth had the same first and middle name I did, and I hated
the nick names people gave me without permission. I guess you could’ve
said I had other options. But in my mind I had no other options,

not even for choosing the family I was born into. There
were times I wished the neighbors would adopt me, especially
when my parents argued in daylight in the front yard. I preferred
the young couple next door who smoked pot, they always seemed happy. But
it helped when daddy took my brother and I camping. Mom
would stay home with my little sister. My brother and I
got to have some peace and quiet for a whole weekend. During those trips
might have been a good time to ask my father if I could
legally change my name. He called us ‘damn weeds’
when we couldn’t sit still. Once he told me I was his horse
if I never won a race. I liked horse names. I didn’t really care if I ever had
a middle name. I always felt different, like I didn’t fit in. But Daisy
would have been a horrible name for me.

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