poem a day

May 5, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

even though you’re feeling sad
drink the coffee
do the writing

even though everything feels hopeless
drink the coffee
make the plans

even though you’d rather sleep and sleep and sleep
drink the coffee
do the day

little bursts of serotonin
may or may not add up
into an almost livable amount
of serotonin
for one mind
but at least those little bursts of serotonin
will help
for a second
or two

so

even thought it all seems so pointless
drink the coffee
eat the cookie
write the poem
talk with the spouse
play with the puppy
get out of the house
and fake it till you make it:
life edition.

~~~

yikes.

(the feels that made
that poem)

~~~

wanderlust
wanderhome
wander to me
go right now
i am waiting
arms outstretched
to feel you in them
once again
wanderlust
wanderhome
wander towards
never feeling
so alone.

May 4, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

concentration
is a little lax
may the fourth
(be with you)
and waiting for
cookies for breakfast
(should we get real cookie trays at some point?)
(probably yes)

it feels both like 5 am
and 10 already
but it’s only 7:15
and my brain feels disheveled
like my childhood bedroom i never cleaned,
but if i need
there’s coffee on my right side
and a puppy nestled into the couch
and a kip for conversations
distractions
cuddles
and sillies besides

so i suppose i should actually partake in this
morning ritual;
get some caffeine in my veins,
listen to this silly music,
and get on with my day.

May 3, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

it is
very
hard to concentrate this morning

and i don’t know if it’s from
the stress of last night
or
the vividness of the dreams
or
the sadness of this morning
or
the lack of coffee in my bloodstream
or what

but

it is
very
extremely
extraordinarily
bizarrely
quite
hard to concentrate this morning.

~~~

i feel like i’m getting a better handle
on what makes my poetry
my poetry

(but i really have
absolutely
no idea
still
about what makes any poetry
‘good poetry’)

~~~

i would like to write
another
slam poem;
start a flow
and just go,
balance out the rhythm and rhyme
with internal structure,
alliteration,
and find
the transitions,
the cues,
from one section
to anther,
playing with words
and meaning
and framing
the repeating
as metaphor
as a tool
as a lock to turn the key
and find out something new
about me,
about life,
about our home planet earth,
and our collective strife
to stay alive
when all we want
is eternal sleep
(not necessarily because
death is the answer we’re looking for,
but because all these
isms
and power structures
and so-ingrained made up concepts
keep us so wide awake
that sleep seems a necessity
we never get to get
[when was the last time you had
an actual
honest to goodness
no stress
very good
night’s sleep?]

so i guess
that’s what this poem’s about:
the collective trauma
that is
white supremacy/capitalism/america
and how the one thing
that could give us
the fight
we need
to dismantle it
is the the thing
it keeps us
from doing
every
single
night.

(and are my daytime naps
my making up
for this lack,
or is that just a symptom
of the depression
my awareness
of these systems
gives me?)
((or is that a subject
for another poem
for another day?))

May 2, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

it became so much easier
to talk about my drive
to take care of others
when i thought of it as
a trauma response
from childhood.

when approached as something
stemming from the
‘goodness of my own heart’
something akin to being
‘just a good person’
or the source being
‘simply my selfless, altruistic self’
then the ache i felt when i wanted others
to drop everything
and care for me
(the way i did them)
stopped being so disturbingly
selfish/bad person/greedy-hearted
and instead became a warning sign
that i still needed to heal my inner child,
and the care i gave others
wasn’t, in fact, a choice or a personality trait
but was a compulsion driven from a place
of needing what i gave.

May 1, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

it’s gonna
be
May

the millennials shout
and cheer
for one of the few moments
of the year
the dopamine is high
when we think about time

passing.

last night the ice cream truck
drove down our street again
creeping along at a snail’s pace
at dusk
and it struck me
how easily
fun and bright childhood joys
can turn to nightmare fuel
with one or two
subtle
adjustments,
and i just
wanted to remember
getting ice cream from the truck
every
single
visit to Grandmama’s
but instead my mind went to
scary places
(and also to mundanity,
which in itself
is a nightmare all it’s own)
and why
must overthinking
do all this?

but it’s okay

because:

it’s
gonna
be
May.
which means less cold weather
(cross your fingers and toes
and arms and legs
because this spring has been
so
damn
cold
since Louka got sick)
and perhaps more thunderstorms
(have ‘April showers bring May/flowers’
always been slightly off,
or are the spring storms actually
moving
towards happening in May
as another subtle/obvious effect
of the changing of our climate now?)
and perhaps a more relaxed and reasonable me
(because of more time outside,
and extended sunlight in the sky,
and potential adventurous trips for us elsewhere
or for faraway friends towards where we reside)

so,
May,
go ahead and happen
because i could use the damn dopamine.

April 29, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

so much poetry
about tired/sleepiness
about writing poetry
about grief and grieving

but where’s the poetry for me?
where’s the poetry where i actually wake up?
where’s the poetry where i analyze and create new forms/
new words/
new kinds of poetry?
where’s the poetry where i feel
(at least a little)
more healed after writing it?

where’s the poetry where i have a sense of accomplishment
post-writing
rather than a sense of
‘well, i guess that’s ok enough to stick on the poetry blog’?

where’s my big/epic poem?

April 28, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

someone
please teach me
how to be a human
i’ve
‘faked it till i made it’
for the past 27+ years
and i still don’t know,
i sure as hell haven’t
‘made it’
anywhere,
and now i feel like i need it
more than ever

April 26, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

last night, Kip had a dream about Louka
and i had a dream about Computer
and they were both pretty good dreams;
nothing special,
just things that we’ve already done:
introducing Louka to babies
(and how calm and good she was with tiny humans)
and playing with Computer and her rope-fox
(and how excited she gets to run around the house and play and play and play).

and i want to dream about Louka,
i want to be able to touch her soft, soft fur again,
and feel her warmth,
stroke her skull,
and flap her ears,
pick up all sixty pounds of her,
run down inclines with her,
and calmly walk up roads,
see her soaking up the sun,
nuzzle my face into her
and soak up her good dog scent,
squeeze her paws,
and have her head rest on top of my leg,
feel her running/dancing legs as she sleeps
and listen to her dream barks.
my heart aches for Louka…

but at the same time, my heart is filled with this tiny puppy,
this little bundle of joy
(behind a very serious face)
this dog so young, she has no idea how to walk on a leash,
but so smart she’s already learned sit, lie down, and high-five
(the trick Louka taught herself),
i love her grumbles as she pulls at her toys,
and her whines as she stares at the cat
wanting so desperately to meet/play with her
(the cat is not at all ready,
yet),
i love how much this puppy destroys things
with her sharp puppy teeth
and how goofy she acts
when given ice cubes
(the only way Louka would get water sometimes),
and there’s a lot of things that seem like we’re
picking up where Louka left off,
but enough things are so damn different
with this tiny puppy
that it feels so cleansing.

i don’t know how my heart does it,
holds so much pain and grief
and yet so much love and newness
at the exact same time,
but my heart feels so achey
and so full.

and i thank both Louka and Computer
(and Mowgli for the interim/her bedtime cuddles/her insistent meows
so i pay attention to her and not the sadness)
and my Kip
for balancing me out
always.