How I Write a Poem

When I visit schools or speak with fellow educators, I’m often asked how a poem begins for me. The answer is wonderfully simple: with a pen, a notebook, and a very long list. I still write everything in longhand — ink on paper, the old-fashioned way. The slower pace keeps me honest. It won’t let me rush past what matters.

That long list of possible subjects is where the real work starts. I scan down the page and listen for what truly calls to me in that moment. A memory from a performance, a question a student asked, a line I overheard in a hallway. The first challenge is narrowing the list, choosing the one thing that feels alive today.

Once I have a subject, I begin not with structure but with feeling. I write out the emotional center of the poem as if I were writing a letter to a trusted friend. No counting syllables, no worrying about rhyme. I just get the heart of the poem onto the page.

Only then do I invite the craft back in. I read the lines aloud, listening for the music. I shape the rhythm, adjust syllable counts, test rhymes, and tune the imagery so it moves cleanly from moment to moment. My hope is that by sharing this process, you can help your students see poetry not as mystery, but as a series of small, human choices made with care. And, oh by the way, I always strive for warmth. Occasionally through all the “rules” of poetry, when I finish, it feels like a cement block. What do I do then: throw it away. I chalk it up to an effort failed. You know, sometimes I go to a movie and after sitting there for fifteen minutes watching what I cannot even comprehend as a good story, I get up and walk out. Sure, I just wasted $20, but I am not going to couple that mistake by wasting 2 hours. The more one writes, the better they get. Funny how that works. Keep up your good work.