January 16, 2024

finally
finally
we have snow!

the ominous winds
have slowed
to a gentle breeze/
a softer blow/
carrying upon it
flecks of white and
cold as ice, but
piling up like pillows.

the puppy, she leaps and bites
at each shovel-full/
each chunk of salt
scattered for safety
scattered for prosperity
scattered for the memory
of living in wisconsin
and doing this daily.

though it hasn’t felt like winter
until this very snowfall,
i immediately regretted
wanting
and taunting
the skies with my lines
after each prediction of precipitation
“i’ll believe it when i see it.”

now that i’m dealing with it,
i believe it
i believe it
now can it
be over with?

December 21, 2023

it’s that time of year
where the only dopamine is from the bright decorative lights after the sun sets at 4
and that of the morning sun hitting the frost just so
as i shiver in my own home
[no matter what the heat is set to]
and i can’t help but wish for the brighter days/the warmer ways
that summer months send us
and annoy us
and i would much rather be complaining of too much heat
than even a little bit of cold —
my muscles tighten up in winter,
my whole body stops moving smoothly,
and i can’t can’t cannot get happy
no matter what i do

[i can’t even get into
writing poetry in
the morningtime]

[but at least it gets better from here on out, right?]

March 12, 2022

a whole host of
feelings
dreary
hungry
tired
that seem to
disconnect
me from feeling
any other things
[inspired
full-spirited
interest]

~~~

this winter seems to go on forever
except
unlike the Wisconsin winters
i’d been used to,
this one has a very
Cleveland flare:
stopping for a day or two,
letting the flowers in the yard
start to peak from the ground,
green stems pointing towards the sky,
before dumping another
few inches
or damn near
a whole foot
of freezing rain/hail/sleet/
pure snow
on us once more
(only to have all that
melt
in a matter of days,
and have the buds
begin
to emulate
full flowers;
colors in the back
side
front yards
before it all turns to white again
just for the green to stick out
over top)

the fight
over what season
March
should be.

~~~

what to write about
in mornings when i feel
the least like myself;
not even more sad
than my usual rainbow demeanor,
just too tired
to be
me
?

February 3, 2022

still don’t know what the groundhog said
guess i could look it up
(even tho it has very little to do with anything real,
but we all need a distraction these days, right?)

six more weeks of winter
(as opposed to ‘early spring’)
but six more weeks isn’t terrible;
the full month of February
(which is annoying, but expected)
and then half of March
(March, which lost its status as
‘normal month’ way back in 2020;
i don’t think i’ll ever look at another
March
the same way again)

but i think,
i *think*
i can do it.

~~~

most mornings
the sunlight blazes through
our east-facing windows,
catching in our eyes
as we sit to write
morning pages and morning poems
and things of that nature
and the shine is so great
that half my computer screen
fades to white
and generally
we put up with it
for the warmth
(and for the plants)

but this morning
the sun is barely making itself known
through these dense clouds
bringing with them rain
and drear
and we miss that sun
not just the warmth
but also the light
the indication of daytime
the blasting through our senses
waking us up
in a way
that only coffee comes close
to imitating

~~~

i keep wanting/desiring/being drawn to the
writing
of tough stuff
in the evening
but in the morning
when i have more wherewithal
to contemplate
the complicated
my aversion to tackling
the ‘tough stuff’
grows
exponentially

(but maybe one of these mornings)

(or maybe one of these days i’ll just have to
write
in the eveningtime)

January 31, 2022

it’s about to be
That Time:

February.

in a non-leap-year,
February and March
have the same date attached
to the same day of the week,

and this messes me
the fuck
up.

i’ve missed more appointments
than i care to admit
scheduling them for February
when i thought i’d scheduled them for March,
and more than a few
shown up too early
seeing the day and the date come up
in the second month of the year
just to have them actually be
in the third.

i know ‘reading the date more carefully’
is a way around this,
but sometimes my eyes see
exactly what they want to see
instead of what is

(and especially within this
year three
of a global porcupine ,
where concentration is lacking
in most of us
due to collective trauma
observed
[directly or indirectly]
day in
and day out
and day in
and day out
and my only saving grace
last year
was that nothing needed to be scheduled
during these months;
resurgences,
and my own clumsy injuries,
and the cold outside,
and my own seasonal depression…
i hid through most of the winter,
hibernated the initial instance of
‘Tuesday the first’
away)

but
i’m trying to be more proactive
more energized
more engaged
this year
so i’ll read
and re-read
and re-re-re-read
and have my spouse check
the dates of things
(or just not schedule anything
non-consistent
at all)
(i mean, hey,
there’s a reason i scheduled my booster
for today,
the last day in January,
a date i won’t even see
for another
fifty-nine
days)

and maybe
just maybe
this therapy
of breathing
and taking my time
and forgiving myself
my past errors
is [could be] helping?

January 27, 2022

so cold
too cold to think
too cold to do much else
but obsess about the cold

~~~

apparently that poem is too true
my brain has short-circuited
and i ponder things other than the cold
but they only flit in and out
as my body gets used to the
inside heat once more
(even though it’s not nearly as heated
as my freeze-baby body would prefer)
(and that’s still with snow pants and a sweater on)

(but will i stop drinking this ice-cold coffee?
absolutely not.)

~~~

fake fireplace
give me warmth
flicker your rolling light flames
and force heated air towards my
shivering bod

my one solace in the wintertime

January 22, 2022

see
me
doing the work
writing the things
pushing
daily

meet
me
in between
the day and the night
the push and the pull
the enjoying the work
and the pushing through for completionist’s sake

and do it all
in a mf-ing
pandemic

~~~

don’t know where that came from
except my brain
so i guess it’s not all sunflowers and random peaks of
existential dread
up in here…

~~~

the thing is, i’m not pushing
that hard,
like,
i do like
writing
i enjoy it
and [especially] when i get into flow
it’s the most fulfilled and productive i feel
but the last few days/weeks have felt
‘off’
and i can’t quite figure out why,
but i just keep going
and if i don’t write anything that i deem
‘good enough’ for posting
i simply go back to other days
where writing felt smoother
and more ‘of me’
(or something)
and i post that
(which i’ve done before
but maybe not so many days in a row?)
(and even the written — posted days
feel
not great)

did the second poetry-writing challenge break me?
or is this simply the effects of wintertime
(and every year i’m surprised)