I just spent my Saturday night with a root beer and a movie. (This is not a sad confession.) I watched “Trudell” and I want to recommend it to anyone that wants to feel inspired. It is a portrait of a Native American, and indigenous soul, a poet, an activist. I watched it twice just to hear the words again. But this is really not a review of a movie as much as it is a loud clap for those that can make us sit up and listen. John Trudell.

Recently, my heart broke twice in one 24 hour period. Why mention that? Because I think that from a crack in the heart a billion words can spill. Angry words. Sad words. Longing words. Grief-filled-blood-on-the-page words. Now, I am not suggesting that one go out and look for a broken heart. But I think all of us have been wounded at one time or another, and that with a careful cut we can bleed all over again. When I was a teenager and I wanted to call up that horrible feeling I would sit and imagine my family all dying in a car accident, or my boyfriend dying of a horrendous disease. After I got myself in a real “lather”, as my mother would call it, I could write all kinds of angsty poems. And with time those blood covered poems translated into rich imagery for later pieces. It is a “practice”, a ritual of some sort that I still use to call forth the muse. Now it is lost love, not car wrecks that do it.

One of the most potent sources of inspiration and images for writing can be your dreams. Try keeping a notebook and pen on your bedside table so that you can jot down a few words to jar your memory about those in-between waking-and-sleeping moments. You may surprise yourself with the things your subconscious churns up.

…one of these first lines. I’m just making them up as I go along. Use them if you can…

in the wild days of

if you could tell me what and where

sara, you only have my heart

dancing on the heads of an infinity of angels

you could never

I want to swab your cotton mouth with my tongue.

this doesn’t really fit in anything i’m writing right now, but i like it.

Family. The word brings so much to mind. Familiar. What we know. What you grew up with. Who you have become. My family turns up often in my writing, in poems for my children, about growing up, about the relationships with my brothers that have grown throughout the years. Write a love letter (or a rant) to your family – or just one family member. Post a link to your poem in a comment here so we can come read it!

I found this great post on finding your muse at Creative Latitude. The author is a graphic and web designer, but his tips for finding your muse work for anyone. Among them…

Shake up your muse by doing things differently (one of my personal favorites)
Take your muse to the gym (because working out gets the creative juices flowing)
Listen to music (because it soothes the savage muse)
Find a kid (because they have such a fresh way of seeing things)

Check out what else he has to say and maybe some of it will rub off.

Sometimes it helps to do things differently. To drink a hot chai. To go for a walk. To stand on your head. Miscellaneous tips for getting your muse to peek out of her house go here…

I’ve just been scribbling a lot the last couple of days. I’ve had so much mental stimulous that I almost can’t actually formulate anything new except snippets of ideas. But this line (lines?) keeps bouncing into my brain. It’s not ready to be born into a whole poem, but maybe someone else can coax it out.

He has always been
New York
to me…
the place I assume I
will someday end up
or always wonder
what if?

stake out your local open mic venue. sit in the back and just jot down fragments that make your ears prick up. if your ears don’t normally prick up then either (a) your venue sucks, (b) you’re genetically deformed, or (c) you’re not listening close enough.* take 1 of those fragments and use it as a first line.

1 night at the Cantab Lounge, I wrote down something and this poem emerged from it. feel free to steal “I dream the bomb” or, better, steal your own first line.

If I Should Die Before I Wake
I Pray the Lord my Soul to Take

I dream the bomb
it’s hard not to
with Cold War parents
A Canticle for Leibowitz
the scene in Terminator 2
that’s all Sarah Connor
fence shockwave

I dream the bomb
machined graphite
crosshair fins
ball blunt shark nose

I dream
the bomb’s energies
flash fire
whistle crescendo
tear silk screen skin
before I wake

*remember, C’s usually the Correct answer.