constantly feeling on a precipice
of the world burning
of my own superstardom
of our own government disintegrating
of my writing something inviting and entrancing
to my own
senses
but i think,
at least for my own cliffs’ edges,
i cannot wait for the feeling of falling —
i need to just
jump
still on the high from the retreat
trying to connect with my own creative vibe
outside of all the wonderful folks
i got to know
over three long/short days
i think [my] lesson of the retreat is:
everyone has such different methods of storytelling
and modes of writing
and even within one person there are
worlds and citizens and characters and genres
and everyone listening is so, so supportive
i think i may be able to bring something
next year
[better start writing/planning
now!]
[and that is the first time that has felt exciting
and daunting
rather than daunting and a laborious struggle]
poems
looking back on other poems
are apparently what my poems
had in store for me today
will i ever find my own voice
my pattern of poetry
my own way of writing
a style all my own
in this poem-a-day-venture?
do i even want to?
i want to find my own style
while drawing
because right now my “style” is simply
me not really knowing what i’m doing
and trying things out
and fading limbs when they err too close to the hands
and to the feet…
but i generally know what i’m doing
with writing
(or at least i was formally trained
for a time)
(though that doesn’t necessarily mean
anything
at all)
a style in visual art
to me
would mean
i’ve achieved choices
and a way to be recognized
and a general idea of what i’m doing
(and doing it with purpose)
but a style
in poetry
to me
would mean
pigeon-holing me
into one particular mode of voice
and this cacophony of styles
i suppose
is my choice
(and i guess,
at least right now
i do with a semblance
of purpose)
kipventures 