January 3, 2023

i found an old USB drive,
the one my first college gave us,
and i know that there used to be poetry
on it–
the first poems i wrote
that weren’t
primary school assignments
or
teenage angst arrangements

but i haven’t opened it up and plugged it in yet

there are a few logical [and illogical] reasons for that:

first and foremost
none of my laptops have a USB port
any longer
(this is easily rectified
by the external bricks
that connect
most cords
with our computers–
i’m not 100% sure there’s a USB connection
on that thing
but i’m assuming
it is
more than likely)

the second is that
i don’t think i’d find
any surprises
there–
i saved all my college essays elsewhere
as well,
and if i were to go digging
i’d probably find
exactly the poems i had in mind–
so what’s the use
of trying to get my laptop to read
a fifteen year old piece of technology
to not unearth any fun finds

but surprises inside
are my third
hesitation
reason–
what if i
actually put on it
something i don’t necessarily want to see
now;
what if
i hid some angsty gems–
do i want that in my head
now?
and the worst surprise
i think i could find
is if there is actually nothing inside.

but look at me
not checking the brick
for a USB port,
not grabbing the drive
from the basement where it was nearly stepped upon,
not finding a way
to find out
what’s on it,
but instead writing a whole
silly
poem
about how i don’t want to know–
[but i still do want to
and that
is the
problem]

May 20, 2022

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.

September 7, 2021

find things to write
in the mundane
it’s in the big ideas
that get you overwhelmed,
you question word-choice
you panic about phrasing
your anxiety gets entirely in your way
to convey
the fullness of the subject matter
with delicate balance
between
accuracy
and
kind capacity
no matter the big subject

but you thrive in the little things
a whole sonnet about a cup of coffee
an ode to names and nicknames
silly little poems
ones that your spouse enjoys the most
ones that get the most “likes”

but i know you
(i mean, technically, i am you,
that is the whole point of this silly little poem,
i’m talking to myself
simply using the tactic of calling me ‘you’
so maybe, when i re-read it, it’ll feel like someone else is talking to me)
but, i know you,
i know that you contemplate the big subjects
you’re drawn to them
you can’t help but think of them
in fits and starts poetically
but also
the more i learn about mortality
the more i realize
there will never be a “perfect opportunity”
a day when all the stars align
and you’ll be able to churn out that “big poem”
in all the right words
and all the right phrasings,
but also,
there is something to say for practice
and following the dopamine
and writing what feels right in that moment,

so maybe that’s why
instead of writing about a big thing
or writing of the mundane
again today,
i’ve thought to write a letter
in poem form
to let you know
it’s ok
to write
what you’re feeling
in the moment…

(isn’t that the goal,
the whole ‘in the moment’ living?
right?)

August 17, 2021

if i’m
contemplative
too much
i get
existential
and that often leads to
a
crisis
but without
contemplation
i’m left with
mundanity
which therein leads to
boredom
which in turn becomes
agitation
which stems from
anxiety
and
depression
which, while indulging in those
can become
too much
contemplation

[or at least i think those are the appropriate words for all that emotional muck i feel]