Punctuation is Voluntary
It is April, and the first of my daffodils are smiling up towards the Spring sky, peeking through the droopy, feathered needle arms of my hemlock trees, to spy upon the sun as it arcs over my perennial gardens.
I've already carried the remaining pieces of firewood out of my house and back to the woodpile, still stacked from a mild winter. Daylight is lengthening, even though the season struggles for control of the new, turning its back on the old.
It is April, and the streets of Montpelier, Vermont's small but bustling governmental seat, is ablaze with words. Punctuation is voluntary. It is National Poetry Month, and Vermont takes the celebration seriously, at least here in the Montpelier environs.
The project was started in 2010 as Poetry Alive!, and has been renamed to reflect the sense of community that the celebration fosters. "It began with the belief that all people are poets and that their work should be cultivated, communicated and celebrated," reads the background on the event web site. It also says that participation has grown from 70 poets to over 200 Vermont writers, plus more student work.
In its 5th year, the city wide word-fest brings with it a text display of contemporary Vermont poetry from throughout the state, a month-long schedule of poetry events, and partnerships with school groups and other organizations to offer a "truly unique collection of poems to read, create and share."
On this partly sunny day, while awaiting a scattering of possible thunderstorms, I have driven north and then west to indulge in words and images posted in storefront windows along the main roads that intersect the downtown center.
It is April, and the first of my daffodils are smiling up towards the Spring sky, peeking through the droopy, feathered needle arms of my hemlock trees, to spy upon the sun as it arcs over my perennial gardens.
I've already carried the remaining pieces of firewood out of my house and back to the woodpile, still stacked from a mild winter. Daylight is lengthening, even though the season struggles for control of the new, turning its back on the old.
It is April, and the streets of Montpelier, Vermont's small but bustling governmental seat, is ablaze with words. Punctuation is voluntary. It is National Poetry Month, and Vermont takes the celebration seriously, at least here in the Montpelier environs.
The project was started in 2010 as Poetry Alive!, and has been renamed to reflect the sense of community that the celebration fosters. "It began with the belief that all people are poets and that their work should be cultivated, communicated and celebrated," reads the background on the event web site. It also says that participation has grown from 70 poets to over 200 Vermont writers, plus more student work.
In its 5th year, the city wide word-fest brings with it a text display of contemporary Vermont poetry from throughout the state, a month-long schedule of poetry events, and partnerships with school groups and other organizations to offer a "truly unique collection of poems to read, create and share."
On this partly sunny day, while awaiting a scattering of possible thunderstorms, I have driven north and then west to indulge in words and images posted in storefront windows along the main roads that intersect the downtown center.
Treasure Hunt
Bailey Road, a clothing store, is located at 44 Main Street, and I find the block location as I drive from the Interstate highway into the city. I remember, from other years, that there is free parking farther down Main Street, just past the public library, and I find a spot large enough to pull my pick up truck into. I stuff my travel umbrella into my bag, and drape my jacket over the bag strap and head down Main Street, stop to read poem after poem in window after window. I read in the shade of awnings, peer through sun glares on glass, snoop behind sale clothing racks, and bend to read so as not to stare down diners in cafes. The poets hail from all over the state—Montpelier, Burlington, Dover, Brattleboro, East Calais, Passumpsic, Woodbury —and of course, Westminster West.
There are word images of butterflies bouncing off a rhinoceros, pink pearl cumuli clouds, murmuring salmon, curled toes, frog fright, moonlit deer, dreamcatchers, and a blood moon.
I read along the side of Main Street that are even numbered, and know that I will stroll upon #44 eventually.
I chance upon one by Chard DeNiord, our current Vermont Poet Laureate, who also resides in Westminster. I heard him read back in October during the Brattleboro Literary Festival. I am in good company.
Bailey Road, a clothing store, is located at 44 Main Street, and I find the block location as I drive from the Interstate highway into the city. I remember, from other years, that there is free parking farther down Main Street, just past the public library, and I find a spot large enough to pull my pick up truck into. I stuff my travel umbrella into my bag, and drape my jacket over the bag strap and head down Main Street, stop to read poem after poem in window after window. I read in the shade of awnings, peer through sun glares on glass, snoop behind sale clothing racks, and bend to read so as not to stare down diners in cafes. The poets hail from all over the state—Montpelier, Burlington, Dover, Brattleboro, East Calais, Passumpsic, Woodbury —and of course, Westminster West.
There are word images of butterflies bouncing off a rhinoceros, pink pearl cumuli clouds, murmuring salmon, curled toes, frog fright, moonlit deer, dreamcatchers, and a blood moon.
I read along the side of Main Street that are even numbered, and know that I will stroll upon #44 eventually.
I chance upon one by Chard DeNiord, our current Vermont Poet Laureate, who also resides in Westminster. I heard him read back in October during the Brattleboro Literary Festival. I am in good company.
Punctuation
My first poems (2) were accepted for PoemCity 2014, and another one last year for PoemCity 2015. I am a poet — whose work is "cultivated, communicated, and celebrated", just like Chard DeNiord's. We are all poets, in love with words and images. No punctuation necessary.
Totally voluntary.
But why not — !!!...?,!?