i’m not getting out what i want to get out
this morning
[but the problem with having
a writing practice
of trying to get things out
in the morning
is that sometimes
you’re only half awake
and half aware
of the things that actually need to be stated/written/gotten
out
so sometimes you just have to write
about the fact that the writing
just isn’t doing it this morning
and hope that makes something come out]
i wonder
if i whiled away my morning hours
finding the rhymes
and alliterations with time,
if i’d feel more
connected/
more a part of/
more in line
with my silly morning poems —
if i seriously sat still
thinking of the perfect line
the perfect rhyme
the perfect kind of poem to
express
and impress
and decompress
and perhaps then
i’d force my poems on others
[but, as it stands now, i can only make that happen
for like half to two thirds of a full poem,
and then i let go the pretense, and get back to the words
that just make sense
with my morning brain]
a poem
to center
not distract
a poem
to wake up
not relax
a poem
to get the brain
the body
the mind
the soul
going
a poem
to bring me into
this world
this day
this moment of time
into
maybe even
myself
a poem.
will i,
once i get back,
be back into
some semblance
of a morning
habit
with these words?
that would be nice
that would be nice
this vibe
of music
of cello and piano and drum
of experimenting with the strings
and riffing on the keys
and the steady, floating and capturing beat underneath
is exactly the vibe i need
for this morning
[let’s hear it for modern jazz]
a poem to call to waking
the brain that’s still sedated
for what is more startling
than words not expecting
and an intellectual search in the mind-house
my morning poetry feels both so unimportant
and even more important
for these four weeks
unimportant
in the grand scheme of things
but important
to keep my word
to myself
and continue this challenge
amongst so many other challenges
because i am nothing if not
a stubborn little goose
turn off the brain
turn on the writing
turn on the morning
the focus and the words
that mean nothing
that mean everything
if i don’t think too hard
if i don’t think hard enough
if i simply stop thinking
maybe these poems
may make sense
eventually]
i feel
as though
i haven’t had a regular morning
in days [true]
weeks [kinda accurate]
months [i guess one could argue this]
years [i think this is where we lose our debate]
[though, i suppose, everything post-2020 hasn’t been
regular life/mornings/any time of day
at all]
not feeling the morning page poetry
this morning
but that doesn’t mean
i won’t do it
i mean
i continue to do this
every
single
morning
whether i’m in the mood or not
just to have something to do
just to have a habit to latch onto
just to have some proof
to say
‘i was here, i had thoughts and feelings and insights, too’
and maybe someone will read them soon
and maybe someone will read them in hundreds of years
and maybe
because they’re all digital
they’ll disappear into the ether
but
maybe the ether will get a kick out of all these poems
and they and the void can talk about me
behind my back
when i’m long long long gone
kipventures 