Diana Bancroft

“And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"                                                       David Byrne, Talking Heads and you may find yourself                seen as a # like gov’ment issued boots or worker B or lined-up “take a # pls” or cast as a tally of a bally-box or a                series of ones no one sees or the # everyone, ‘cept U, sees                Except you, when you see a radically bitchin’ chick whose                tick has tocked and think, no way that's moi!?                what’s yer damage, man? but I ...

 B fearless Over a weekend in September (9/18-21) I was fortunate enough to attend the Sawtooth Writing Retreat  17 miles outside of Ketchum,  in central Idaho. When I first arrived on Thursday, the imposter that lives rent free in my head shouted, FLEE!  I'm very grateful to say that I was able mute the imposter's voice and connected with writers, all in various places in their writing journeys. It was such a memorable experience! I participated in workshops lead by knowledgeable, published authors, attended a fascinating panel discussion about wildfires, and screwed up my courage to participate in open-mic night by reading an original creative work near and dear to my heart, It's Our Nature . The piece has bits of introspection mingled with humor, and I was overjoyed when people laughed in the appropriate places. I have been told my voice within the piece lends to its authenticity. (I will share this piece of creative writing another time.) My favorite part had to...

 B lyrical   ( da-DUM da- D UM da-DUM d a-DUM da-DUM) I feel that poetry has a bad rep. Unless surrounded by other writers, when I tell people, "I write poetry", I can almost see them cringe! Traditional forms of poetry can be painful to read. Themes of love, longing, and loss can be overly sentimental, antiquated, and even cliche. While there is nothing wrong with tradition or sentimentalism, poetry need not be painful or cringy. Traditional forms aside, we can't all be Shakespeare, master of the Sonnet.  One way to reframe poetry's bad reputation is to view poems like they are song lyrics,. Much like traditional poetry, songs can have an agenda or a underlying message, or they draw out memories, or they simply entertain. The key is, both lyrics and poetry evoke feelings. These are different based on perception, perspective, and what each individual finds relatable. In other words, as art, both are subjective. No Rules I prefer creating poetry using the less confin...

  eyes and ears, the only witness stuffed shirt and stalk still, if you will earn your name All-Seeing, deep as full-dark with subsong, pulsating throat  warder of murder stock still sunlit sheen of blue deceives ebony wings as         three beaks belonging to brash birds, scoop and arching back, quench ebony throats spattered flecks of black deceive field of green stiff-legs obliquely hopping pair upon pair heed the wader’s quick halting clicks and crystalized song tempered beaks clack, fanned tails flicker, Ravens’ wings beat blurring like hands clapping, black across blue sky three at the trough untuck ebony wings spreading feathers as  stained tips leaving charcoal fingerprints on pale blue canvas. the puckish warder perched on stuffed shoulder, pecked a vacant eye, chuffed its victorious caw and into the sky, flitted away.

 B on the lookout-- for Other People's Pets and our  Synanthropic friends! Neurotic Nermal having deep thoughts of the world beyond the door. This is how we do it! Dog ridin' piggyback. Another gingerkitty, Bode! Hello lovely stray kitty, could you use a nosh? Even Charlie's favorite toy does not comfort when forced to sit with the strange lady at the office. He just wants his dad to come back.  Baby ducks! As if  another reason for owning a used bookstore is needed! ( Literary Paws   just down the street from Weiser Classic Candy & Deli in Weiser, Idaho.) Hello gorgeous! Shameless! How much for the silent sentinels in the window? Just two of the hundreds of Bench Bunnies in Boise. Dandy Diamond... Freedom!! Who's minding the store? Hello, sweet ginger stranger!

 B singular-- (background music for poem: begin with Horse With No Name by America , the La La parts, then hit shuffle.) Glorious thrusters hiss through thin air as a red-faced tot behind, kicks a tizzy-fit on a maiden economy power trip. Shuttling at capacity, crawling and conducted, destinations controlled. It’s palpable one, or many, needs a shower trip. Even keeled, chugging towards the horizon, never acquired, bundled bald and blue-haired directed activities every hour, trip. Serving number thirty two, I’m one hundred and one in the que, a din like gregarious locusts, swarm-in-from-out-of-towners trip. Looking left, then right. Diana, que of one, in a mod tin Lizzy beast, chewing breezy byways, destination unknown horsepower trip . * Ghazal poetry defined.

 B here and now-- Today is the first day of the rest of your life           overused words for people seeking a reason and the strength to break the pattern of a rut           dug by all the tired yesterdays jammed into your messy junk drawer and expanding           to make an even bigger mess on the floor so you kick it out of your way and through the closet door           forcing it shut tight with the might of soft shoulders managing to get it solidly shut in but then           bits of paper junk peek through the crevices and cracks and you resign and deeply sigh           bone-weary from the effort as the sun sinks low expiring another chance to shine and           “Afterall," it has been said, "tomorrow is another day.” and that tomorrow will be th...