sometimes, you need the break,
and sometimes the break needs you,
and every now and then
you need each other,
and that
is a beautiful day
(if you listen)
~~~
what is it about the stardew valley
wintertime
music
that feels so sad
and desolate
and cold
and hopeful
and magical
and pleasant
and soft
and exciting
and new
every time i listen?
every time i play?
~~~
puppy whines
cat hisses
communication:
solid misses
wow.
pavlovian response to
lofi music playing:
immediate urge to poetry.
~~~
some days
(most days)
i need the poetry-writing to wake me up
(the coffee is simply comfort-waking
now
rather than an actual stimulant)
but then
some days
(rarely)
(but it does happen)
i need the coffee/the doing/the something
in order to wake myself up
before
i start to write the poetry.
today was one of the latter
days
~~~
a reference?
a reference only my spouse and i will understand?
a reference that might simply be an inside joke in poetry-form?
it’s more likely than you’d think!
stop
stop doom scrolling
stop distraction scrolling
do something actually good for your mental health
or do something to stop this country’s imminent collapse
(or something to help your kind survive it—
seeds and love
not guns and guns)
a good trip
a quick one, but
a good trip.
a flight cancelled/stood-by/delayed
but arrived,
chill hangout time,
a birthday celebrated,
weeds pulled up,
min-golf putt-putted,
a bonfire burned,
many movies watched,
and resident foxes identified.
a good trip
a quick one, but
a very good trip.
a chill,
low-key,
relaxed,
un-pressured,
lazy summer day,
Tom Hanks movie-watching,
just spending time with each other
kind of a visit
and it sure seems
that was what
both of us
needed.
what is it about the smells
of places
from your past
that puts you
both at ease
and on edge
within one whiff?
even though we’re not
‘doing’
much in this visit,
simply spending time
is filling my days
and my heart
[happy birthday, Homer Daddy Dude!]
what is it about
lying next to a cat
that lulls me to sleep
faster
than just forcing myself to bed?
~~~
at least
being in my childhood bedroom
and gazing upon my
most-loved books
has reminded me that
it’s not just in adulthood
that i’ve found comfort in the
already known storyline
and re-consuming media
over and over and over again
(certain copies
of certain books
can attest to the fact that
i consumed them
over
and over
and over again
before i even hit puberty)
~~~
the internet
in this house
is struggling
almost as much as my sinuses
are fighting
to do their job well
(could the dust be blocking the wifi
like it’s blocking my nose???)
writing too fast
typing too slow
thinking too much
portrait of the overtired poet on a plane
trying not to write poetry
for the blog
and only for me
makes my writing
come to life
in a way
i want to
immediately
show off
(perhaps
that’s the key
to every success)
i wonder if poets of yore
ever practiced writing
with mundane daily tasks.
i know they wrote of the very human
feeling of falling in love,
but were there ever any poems of
getting a bit of poppyseed stuck in their teeth,
or that feeling of falling right when you’re about to
lose consciousness to go to asleep?
there were poems with storms as metaphors,
analogies,
but were there ever poems where storms were simply storms
and they enjoyed in the moment,
and wrote in the after
of feeling the thunder
shake
and quake
the whole house?
i feel as though my poetry hits a spot
that hasn’t necessarily been hit
that hard
yet;
the mundanity of human existence.
and i can’t be the first person
to put prose emotions into poetry,
but i do wonder if the greats
of late
or long
ago
ever did what i’m doing
it just wasn’t as accepted
or expected
then.
kipventures 