***De Jackson hails from the desert of Southern Nevada in Henderson, near Las Vegas, where she lives with her gorgeous groom of nearly 16 years, two crazy kids, a beloved neurotic terrier, an aloof cat, a bearded dragon, and various members of the insect and arachnid world. She breathes best with inky fingers and salty, sea-soaked toes, but she’s also blessed to bloom online alongside some incredibly talented creative souls (you all know who you are.) De’s words have somehow made their way onto the pages of such journals as Curio, Garbanzo, Burning Word, Shot Glass Journal, Sprout, Tuck and others, and she was honored as a Poetic Asides 2012 Poet Laureate. De’s a full-time mama and a paid published poet (if you count journal copies, garbanzo beans, and one time, a whole dollar). She occasionally writes ad copy for money, but scribbles poems in the margins of life daily. You can pay her a visit at www.WhimsyGizmo.wordpress.com.
Think of 10-12 good reasons to do something. The “something” is the subject of your poem. Write a list poem including as many of your reasons in the body of your work.
I’m my father’s son!
(I’m my mother’s prodigy!)
I’m having a good day!
(Any day alive is a good day)
I’m turning a year older.
(39 never gets old)
My job promotion came through.
(Then I wake up and go to work)
My muse refuses to slow down.
(And that’s a good day)
My cholesterol numbers are better.
(Making the right changes for a change)
(Reasons? I don’t need no stinking reasons.)
It’s my favorite season.
(Steeped in tradition, I am)
The Bills haven’t lost in 2014.
(They haven’t played in 2014)
I’m celebrating 25 years of wedded bliss today!
(Happy 29th Anniversary, Janice!) 🙂
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
DE’S LIST POEM:
THE REASONABILITY OF SOLITUDE
Find yourself alone, let the record show:
Because the sound of your own breathing is a heartbeat rhythm spent.
For the sake of all things buried deep, steeped in salt and silence.
Because words flow best in whispers, wrapped soft in breeze.
For the taking of stars, shattered pieces of sea glass; pocketed scars.
Because hope is a feathered thing, too easily startled.
For the attention span of sky, moon at full attention, spotlight shone.
Because knowing your own syllables requires a more quiet song.
For the ache of growing, groaning, grounding lightning to jars.
Because the world is loud and proud and lousy with shouting.
For the persistent casting of pearls from stones.
Because you don’t need a reason
for finding yourself. Alone.
(C) Copyright De Jackson – 2014