January 24, 2023

take your moment
meditate
relax
it’s just a morning
like any other morning
no extra stress comparatively
i don’t know why your heart is beating like that
so loud
so loud
but it is what it is
and it is just a morning
so meditate
write
and be here when you’re ready

January 10, 2023

capitalism
ruining even the most productive
of mornings

~~~

frustrated
distracted
hungry
but not yet ready

what a morning

~~~

banal tasks
take
less mental energy
but
when a sudden need
for that focus arrives
it’s quite jarring

December 27, 2022

i know the morning
is here for me
to delve into my
psychology
and think through things
as they may or may not be

but right now it feels
more like a chore
more like a bore
score none and no more
the act of writing
of poetizing
less than appetizing
and i can’t help but feel
like a
fraud

~~~

one more poem
one more verse
simply to make me feel
like i didn’t just waste
an entire block of my morn
writing stupid rhyming poetry
for nothing
for naught
for no one but me

(that’s the only person
actually
for whom this
poetry)

~~~

and writing
as me
as my own self
is so odd
because i’ve spent so much of my life
not knowing
(or straight up hiding)
who i truly was
that i’m uncertain
i’d even know
for sure
now

August 16, 2022

i should have known
that the answer wasn’t
‘both’
when asked if i liked to work more with
details
or
big picture
things,
simply based on my reaction to being presented with
either.
when asked to look at minute details
i feel like i’m being laid into a giant warm bed
that fits me perfectly
that itself cuddles back.
and when being presented with
the big picture
i’m overwhelmed to the point of
panic attack

~~~

this
computer
is on its last legs
(or its last keys)
the multiplying of vowels
has at least tripled
(except for the rare occasion
when a letter simply
doesn’t)
but now the delete button
and space bar
are on the fritz
and a few consonants
are also acting awry
and i
think should just bite the bullet
and let Kip transfer my things
over to the new [to me] laptop
but this machine is where i wrote a novel,
and this is where my Morning Poems started,
and i took all my zoom classes
here,
and it feels like
an end to an era
when it’s simply
upgrading to the next model
and i
need to stop worrying
about losing all my things–
Kip knows how to transfer
and i’ve saved in at least two different places
and i should trust technology
some day
(maybe today?)

~~~

my body
and brain
just want to go back to
adjusting every little date
on my transfer
from goodreads to storygraph
because tiny details
and mindless tasks
feed my soul
like pudding;
filling it with empty calories
that i know should go
after a full meal
(of poetry-writing, perhaps?)
but i secretly just want
to eat sweets
and do teensy tasks
whenever i feel
any kind of
hunger

July 27, 2022

there are some mornings
you wake up
and are ready for the day;
you start going through the list
of things to do
and you
get excited about he prospect
of accomplishing those tasks

and some mornings you wake up
and you can’t think about anything other than
when your next nap will be,
because you left your true self
somewhere in a dream
and you ned to get back there
in order to bring it with you
into the conscious waking land
(and without that self
you’re pretty much just falling asleep
wherever you stand/sit/stay anyway)

guess which this morning
is

June 24, 2022

to be
on the cusp
of knowing who you are
but still fearing the unknowns
of changes
to your
body
mind
and soul

how dare this internalized
trans-phobia,
the lies and terrorizing from the cis-stem,
affect me this deeply

(and in my Pride month, no less!)

~~~

the puppy’s tail pulsates,
swinging wildly back and forth,
as she barely contains her glee
in a well-trained sit;
‘wait’

the cat stares,
meows,
then damn near head-butts the dog
with love,
but still hisses
(instinctually?)

someday
they will
be friends.

~~~

it’s mornings like this
when my mind feels blank
that i wonder if it’s actually good for me
to write
and write
and write and write and write
until i find something to say,
or if it would better serve me
to let the morning go
‘to waste’
and write later in the day
when things have inspired my mind
to think things through
and the creative process
is finally flowing…

what
do you
think?

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?