once again
i am stuck
pondering
what in the world
i’d thought of
to write
last night
when this morning
my brain
doesn’t seem to light
up
with any words
or concepts
or phrases
just stages
of grief
over lost
concepts
June 5, 2022
we’ve repurposed a large tupperware container
into where we put all the pieces of paper
and threads of former toys
computer has ripped through
with her sharp puppy teeth
and we call it her art collection
and i love it
we also have
two of her puppy teeth,
molars that fell
outside
rather than down the throat,
and we’re thinking of putting them
in her art jar as well
because she did make them
and they are
art
~~~
the puppy has learned
that the top of the soft crate
can help her see
over the room-fence-divider,
and also
can keep her cool
on hot summer days
(now to see how long
the zippered canvas
will hold her weight
as she grows…)
~~~
Louka
was cat-like
in the way that she was
not very dog-like
Computer
is very cat-like
in many mannerisms
and play-approaches
and active qualities
(the passive
and the active
cat-like qualities)
(meanwhile our cat
is more monkey
than any other creature,
so…)
June 4, 2022
hammock days
(the relax, not the circus)
under the mosquito net
on top of the shade umbrella
a perfect
Bronx
morning
~~~
it feels weird
writing morning
poems
on a deck
so far from
the regular
place
but fuck it,
it’s
lovely
~~~
the soft netting
weaves
in the breeze
(you don’t need to find any metaphors,
comparisons
or similes
that it is like;
it is just itself)
the bird calls
intermingle
with the spotify playlist
of classical
(or indie)
(or ‘garden music’)
(whatever that means)
and the netting hides us from
the other creatures
who call our yard
home
~~~
is the mosquito netting
hiding us
from the squirrels and birds and other such wildlife
or are the animals simply getting used to our
presence?
(or does it matter
when the morning
is this
damn
gorgeous
?)
~~~
and what of the sun
not shaded
by the umbrella?
(to burn
or not to burn,
that is the question.)
(and sunscreen is
the answer)
June 3, 2022
i [might] have
hit the point
where my body of work is
Prolific
[but quantity doesn’t indicate quality]
[though practice makes perfect—
or
at the very least permanent—]
and is it actually
Prolific
if i am the only one
aware
of it all?
~~~
400+ days of writing
poetry
every morning
a solid amount of those mornings
(like this very one)
Three-Poem-Days
and even more housing
multiple drafts of multiple poems
not yet seen by
The Internet
but if i’m simply writing free-form/
stream of consciousness/
‘do it but don’t worry about it’
kinds of things,
churning
but not editing/
or revising/
or analyzing/
or anything of the sort
does that not become
at some point
Junk?
~~~
my greatest poem
within this experiment
was seen by more people
but has not been posted here.
a slam poem written
from a prompt
intended for a monologue
(originally from a spell)
i learned (from that poem) that prompts are friends
and a one-week due-date
with daily revisions
and one solid subject matter
are useful in my creative process
i am actively proud of that poem
and i want to write more like it
(with the passion/
and verse/
and poetical devices/
and wholeness)
so why do i not
actively
seek out
prompts,
nor let myself
take time
to edit
any of these
anymore?
June 2, 2022
poems pulsating
through my mind
as i find
myself
at that coast of consciousness
trying to remember
the words as they came together
the alliteration and rhyme
after so much time
asleep
and in the morning
nothing
ever
comes to me.
June 1, 2022
the last few Junes
i’ve been filled more
with Gay Wrath
than Gay Pride;
seeing into the system
that kills our
Black and Brown comrades
and lulls us white queers
into a false sense of security,
complicity
with a system that wants our cash
but never wants our voices
or change for our liberation,
viewing the systems:
the patriarchy,
the white supremacy,
the capitalistic [lack of] integrity,
and learning that
though i’m part of the system
i can do very, very little about it
individually.
this morning
June 1
the first day of pride
in the crazy year of
2022
i simply feel
tired
perhaps this is my
Gay Sloth month?
no, that doesn’t sound right.
Sloth implies a desired laziness
naps for pleasure
on-purpose leisure
(though i did read
somewhere
once
that sloth might have meant
not laziness
but depression–
the dread that goes into that
catatonic inability to get up in the morning–
that is the sloth i am all too familiar with…)
so perhaps this year
is the year
of Gay Sloth
of Gay Existential Crisis
Gay Over-It-All
i am still out and proud
and will give everything to help
others
feel that way too;
my rainbow hair can be your beacon
if you need one,
but rainbow capitalism has stopped
luring me
has stopped
infuriating me
and i guess i’m at the point where
my only reaction
is a big roll of my eyes
and a reminder
to actually research
Why
the first Pride was a Riot
Why
there should be no pigs at Pride
Why
marriage equality isn’t what we thought
(i’ll give you a hint:
it starts with disability rights
and ends at capitalism)
and Why
Why
Why
we do still need Pride
i know
why
we still need Pride.
May 31, 2022
there’s a feeling
deep
in the pit of my stomach
and i can’t figure out
if it’s
Change
or Apprehension
or Jealousy
or what
but it’s there
and the faster i try to flee from it
the harder it holds on
so
perhaps
this is simply my companion
for the next few hours/
days/
weeks/
months
and i suppose i’ll try to make it an okay home
May 30, 2022
having
this puppy
makes me wonder
what we missed
about Louka’s puppyhood
(most of the time,
when i thought about Louka’s
sad life before us,
i only thought about her having
all those puppies
and not getting to take care of them.
but Louka had a life before motherhood,
as short as it must have been,
and i do wish i could have seen it;
could have been there
to hear her first whines
turned to yips
turned to barks
as she learned how to use
her big boof tool/
or watched her experience
grass
or rain
or pillows
or blankets
for the first time
and how she might have tested
what they were all about—
would she have bitten them
into submission
like this young Computer dog?
or was it just her big snoof
that would have assessed
what needed to be assessed?)
we think
we saw
a lot of firsts for Louka:
first carpet/
first time in the ocean/
first time on sand/
first time hearing and seeing fireworks/
first time on a waterbed/
first time allowed on a couch/
first time living in a house
with a limitless amount of love
just for her
—and eventually
she experienced her firsts
with a puppy-like curiosity,
but there was a lot/a lot/a lot of fear
at first firsts
but then i remind myself:
thunderstorms
were a big fear
of hers,
[did they remind her
of being stuck outside
in a crate
at the mercy of the elements?]
and she’d shake
and cower
and our hugs didn’t help,
and our thunder-shirts didn’t help,
and the only thing that seemed to calm her nerves
was ‘dog calming music’ playlists,
but by the time
we moved to this house,
(13 years after she was born,
7 years after she came into our lives,)
the few thunderstorms
that she saw here,
she didn’t shake
or cower
or look to the sky with panicked fear—
we didn’t even need the dog calming music;
she knew she was safe
with us.
(and i hope she went into dog heaven
knowing she was safe
without us, too.)
May 29, 2022
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
May 28, 2022
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!
kipventures 