November Poetry Challenge: 6/30: Naked Nerves

Here's poem #6 of 30 in my November poetry challenge. I'm writing 30 poems in 30 days. Tonight's topic was easier to come up with than the last few, as I had a rather unique for me experience this evening...

Naked Nerves

I expected more butterflies.
The stomach kind, not the social.
I'm singing with a choir tonight,
the entertainment for a black tie gala
fundraiser, $200 a pop
just to get in the door...and up
from there.

Wow. Look at that.

Formal gowns. Ballroom lit with art glass
chandeliers, each a masterpiece in itself.
The murmur of quiet conversations,
the clink of wine glasses,
and the empty stage
waiting
a line of microphones poised,
piano perched to one side...
...And here's our introduction.
A hundred or so heads
turn
watching as we file in.

I should be freaking out by now.
What on earth am I doing?
A nobody amateur
in way over my head.
I just wanted to sing, you know?
And I found a group of people meeting
over music, who let me play too.
I didn't think we'd end up
here,
performing at this level.

Ok, deep breath. Any moment now
there'll be a jumping rush of terror...
But I'm still ...calm?
What gives??
Shouldn't I be a stomach sick
jittering
mess by now?
Wait, we're here.
Hold the head high,
spine straight, smile,
and climb the carpeted
steps to the stand.
Er...I mean stage.
Look out at the expectant faces,
settle in, lift my music
and take my pose.

Oh.

Stand. Pose.
I've got it now.
I've spent the last 4 years
as a life drawing model,
taking off my clothes for artists
and ending up in all my glory
in glowing oil paints and tender
charcoal drawings,
displayed prominently on museum walls.
That practice in poise
and sheer in your face
courage must be kicking in.

This? Yeah, this is nothing.
I can do this.

I've heard advice to performers:
Picturing the audience in their underwear
is a sure fire way to break
a bad case of nerves.
Me? I'm a little different, I guess.
I just have to imagine myself standing
nude,
and I'm serene as can be.

Let's sing.


Melissa McCollum
11/6/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 5/30: Uncivilized Cravings

Here's poem #5 of 30 in my November poetry challenge. My goal is to write 30 poems in 30 days. This particular poem makes more sense if you know that I'm part of a historical recreation group that works with the Middle Ages and Renaissance. We periodically have camping events where everyone dresses up in the clothing of the time, and loses themselves in a past that never was. It really is a moment out of time, to be savored.

Anyway, the poem:


Uncivilized Cravings

It is 2:30 am and I sit
in my monitor lit
room, safe behind curtains,
civilized,
listening to the monotonous
electronic hum.
Reading your distant words.
Browsing the internet.
Fingers on my keyboard,
touching only virtual
connections.
Quiet. Detached.
A bit bored
and rather passionless.

I need
a different 2:30 night.
I want to watch wood smoke
rising from a flickering camp fire,
drifting up to a deep moonless sky.
I need drums in the distance,
and song, and laughter,
enough that I can close my eyes
and feel the humanity
humming around me.
I want to explore the vibrant shadows,
prowling the darkened pathways
that reach between
glowing circles of cheer.
And I want a cloak big enough for two
wrapped round, warm
against the crisp blowing breeze.

And I want your
hands.
Here.
In my dark
and very uncivilized
night.

-Melissa McCollum
11/5/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 4/30: In Plain Sight

Here's poem #4 of 30, in my November poetry challenge. I'm writing 30 poems in 30 days, and posting them here to give me some accountability and keep me moving forward on them. Some of these will be pretty good, most of them will be mediocre, and I expect I'll come up with a couple of stinkers, too. But the goal of the exercise is not necessarily write perfect undying prose...it is simply to write. If you'd like to play along, feel free to post the link to your work down there in the comments.



In plain sight


I'm hiding
right here in plain sight.
I don't mean to, really.
But people see what they expect
and I blend pretty easily.
See, I'm a suburban housewife.
Two kids, the dogs and cats,
driving a minivan.
Quiet, white, middle
aged and middle classed,
with a part time job
to pay the bills
and a weekend hobby
to pass the time.
It is easy to pigeon-hole me.
At first.

Lets make job small talk:
I work at the local community college.
That's mildly interesting...
and then I'll mention
that I take all my clothes off
and pose for the art students.
...Hesitation.
Naked??
And there's the first crack.
That...doesn't quite fit the image.
Oh, and my hobby?
I play dress up and lets pretend.
I'm going to be Medieval Nobility
this weekend,
and my boyfriend will be hitting
people with sticks
to try to make me Queen.
Um...ok then.
Wait, boyfriend? I thought you said housewife?
Aren't you married?
Yes, I live with two men
in a polyamorous triad.
Thats...wait, what?
What does that mean??

And suddenly they've stumbled
on the unexpected.
Folks kind of flounder,
head cocked to the side
not sure how to proceed.
Unease.
Discomfort.
Most of the time there's a snap
judgment
as they struggle to process
the shift in view.
I could never do that
they say.
Initial disapproval,
a distancing,
and only then
poking at it, perhaps,
a theoretical stretch to acceptance...

And then there is the occasional person
whose eyes light up
with the discovery of a layered reality.
That's fun.
And I wonder...
how many kindred spirits
am I passing by?
How much am I guilty of
the same
mental shorthand,
missing vast riches
of complicated, messy personalities
because I see
what is
expected?

What about you?
Are you hiding in plain sight too?

-Melissa McCollum
11/4/2010

Book Menders

I have a friend who has a mission: to repair the books in her children's library. The books have been literally falling apart, and there just isn't enough money in the budget to replace them as they are worn out. This is where Jennifer stepped in, to do her bit. And well, her project has been growing. She's repairing books. (Today she returned 77 repaired books to the library.) She's teaching others how to repair books. And she's looking at starting a non-profit organization to keep on doing just that.

Now she has a blog, and is starting to post tutorials on how to extend the life of the books, so the children will have access to them for a longer period of time. Today's tutorial is on how to apply clear contact paper to the cover of a paperback book. If you're interested in her project, I suggest you stop on by her blog, "One Book at at Time".

http://bookmenders.blogspot.com/

November Poetry Challenge: 3/30: Enough

This is poem #3 in my November poetry challenge. I'm writing 30 poems in 30 days, and posting them here as a way of holding myself accountable so I'll actually get them done. And yes, I see the irony of posting this particular poem here. But it is what came out of the pen tonight.

Enough

Others' eyes are my mirror.
An appreciative gleam
and I stand straighter.
My lips quirk
and my hips
sway
just a bit more.
I send phrases and images
across the internet
and wait impatiently for the echoes
that tell me I am heard,
I am admired.
A touch
and I feel wanted.
It gets to be an addiction.
More.
I crave the input, the attention,
hungry to see myself reflected back
strong, beautiful, talented.
More. Give me more.
It's not enough.
Let me wrap your heat around me
because I'm still
cold.

I need...
I need to step back. Turn away.
Let it go, and look inward.
See.
Who am I
when I stand alone?
Without the influx...
what am I?
Inside, curled in on herself
shivering
there is a woman there
who is uncertain.
Scared.
Who sees herself aging,
thicker, gray.
Who looks at her creations
and whispers, "Just a hobby."
Who is afraid of not being
enough.

I need to cherish that woman.
I. Not others.
I need to send her flowers,
take her on dates.
I need to wrap her in comfort
and spoil her
with soft textured velvets
and sensuous silks smooth
against our skin
just for the wriggling joy of it.
I need to provide her
a warm sheltered nest
to curl up in
and toys to play with
so we can create
beauty
just for our own pleasure.

Because I am
enough.
Just me.

-Melissa McCollum
11/3/10

November Poetry Challenge: 2/30: Being a Grown Up

Here's the second piece for my poetry challenge. I'm doing 30 poems in 30 days for November. I noticed some of you Googled in on the search term 'poetry challenge'. Do you want to play along, too? If so, feel free to put the links to your own works down in the comments section here. I'd love to see what you come up with!

Being a Grown Up

I'm a grown up today.
I ate my breakfast fiber,
folded the laundry
and washed the dishes.
I filled out checks,
planned the evening's menu,
and weeded the garden.
And I Voted.
So very responsible.
Mature.

And next,
I'm going to dance in the grass,
head thrown back
and arms wide open,
spinning in the sprinklers.
I'm going to eat my ice cream first,
and create exuberant masterpieces
made of sidewalk chalk
giggles
and pure imagination.
And I'm going to celebrate
our marvelous, vibrant differences.

Because I'm a grown up today,
and I can!

-Melissa McCollum
11/2/10

November Poetry Challenge: 1/30: A Missing Seasoning

Happy November!

November for a lot of my friends means NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. It is a challenge where you try to write a 50,000 word novella in just 30 days, where speed and output matter more than quality. It is a great tool to get you off your duff, and just write without the pressure to be perfect.

Well, I tried the exercise a few years ago, and made a discovery. I don't like writing novels.

I do however, really enjoy writing poetry. And during the normal course of events, I don't take the time to do it. So a few years back I personalized the novel writing idea. My own November challenge is to write approximately a poem a day, for 30 poems in 30 days. I've done this for I think 3 years. There have been some stinkers, a lot of middle of the road work, and a handful that were good enough to publish. One in particular I actually got paid for later on, which for poetry is rather rare.

In the past, I've used my Live Journal (http://lissamc.livejournal.com/) to chronicle the poems in, but I'm not over there very much any more. However, having to publish them somewhere gives me a boost of accountability, and keeps me moving through the exercise. So, I'm going to put them up here as I write them. Please bear with me. I'll put 'poetry' in the title, so if poems aren't your thing you'll know to skip over them. Of course, if you happen to like poetry I'd love some feedback and/or constructive criticism.

So, here's today's opening salvo:

A Missing Seasoning

I open the freezer door
for a deep breath of thin
cold air, and then wistfully
blow it back in a foggy
puff of memory.
I search the shelves
for stored bits of November.
Nope.
There's no trailing drifts
of leaf-burn smoke here,
no endless farmer fields full
of dry rustling stalks
or bare waiting earth.
The white tracings of ice
won't spill out
to layer my morning walkway
with a chilled crystal carpet.
No, I live in a perpetual
Arizona summer now,
and even my freezer
says 'frost free'.
Dang it.

-Melissa McCollum
11/1/10