Thing of the Week: Amy Turn Sharp's Poem a Day for a Year

My friend Amy Turn Sharp is writing a poem every day for a year and they're all lovely and inspired and full of ideas and moments and wonder. It has been a treat to check in on her blog every day.

Here are some excerpts from a few of my faves, in no particular order.

if only we could be born with a pocket
above our heart
a small tidy pouch
where the operating instructions
the safety information
the detailed primer to the individual heart beat boom love engine
that we own
was kept
and we would grow accustomed to
sticking their hands down inside of our pockets
reaching in
pulling out
and studying the words
and we would be fine...

you were long limbed
hair brown down
and you were the kind of boy
who wrecked cars
there is a type of boy
like you
turn up the stereo
type it across a white paper
drive fast
almost die
the countryside has swervy roads
gravel crunch curves
all of the bad boys lived on my street
with tight pants and lanky bodies
with sparkle rock and roll eyeballs
and I saw all the wreckage

#38 a late model minivan
rolling towards suburbia
with a single cigarette you
bummed from the neighbor
sparking flashbulb memories

take a moment to make the oath
address the wind
the world
the neighborhood
as you drive by
pushing into the night...


You can follow Amy's poem a day, here. Enjoy.



Grumble Girl | 9:22 AM

I know. I know. I know.

Soooooo good for the soul, that Amy. Le sigh.

mommaruthsays | 10:23 AM

Love her so much. And this series. She's incredible.

ats | 12:50 PM

so so happy- smiling hard ! merci!!!

Ann Imig | 12:56 PM

Amy and her words--so full of beauty.

Stacey | 4:07 PM

Oh her poems are lovely. They make my heart happy :)

Jen | 8:18 AM

Very cool! Reminds me of an artist I met that kept a sketchbook for each year. :D

Chicky | 12:57 PM

LOVE Amy - didn't get to spend nearly as much time with her last week as I would have liked - which is to say hardly any at all...she is awesome personified.

Anonymous | 11:24 AM

Flimsy tuna hovercraft.
Rutabaga. Rutabaga.

This poem thing is easy. I don't see what all the fuss is about.