my mind fills with stories
my eyes close and see words
language was always about translation
from thoughts to forms others understood
but here in this moment
when opportunity meets momentum
only morning pages
will ever
get done
~~~
but is that
so bad
a thing?
~~~
i know i could write prose in poetry
i know i could tell a story esoterically
but my words still only seem fit
to express the feelings
in my own life
how could i tell another’s?
silly thoughts
styles
how much
leave it alone
i wonder where i was going
initially
with that poem
quick
quippy
poems
poetry
at its finest
and finest thread of
through line
and fate
and maybe make
the internal rhyme scheme
and alliterative styling
say more
than just
appear
for appearance’s sake
the whole concept of writing
right now
feels egregious
to me
to sit in solemn silence
and ponder grand plans
tiny details
and all between
and simply translate them
to characters in words upon a screen
i don’t know why i
can go from sixty to zero
from brain chattering every day
so much to do, so much more to say
all the previous yesterdays
and then today
be struck
stuck
stagnant
and frustrated
by the whole concept of language
such is the life
and times
and minds
of writers?
some days
you get the poem
and some days
the poem gets you
and other days
you run away from each other
at lightning speeds
and that’s all okay
i’ve been unintentionally rhyming
for a little while now
and i don’t know
how
i feel about it.
~~~
more words
more feelings
more emotions
more muck
to get out of my system
and out of my brain
to stream through the eyes/fingertips
onto a screen
where words seem so foreign
when writing from the heart
but here i am
here i go
here i
start
~~~
i’ve got good stuff
lately
and again
i don’t know how
i feel about
it
trying to get back
into the regular swing of things
but not knowing
if the test
will show
positive or negative
and whether i should really
be getting back
into the regular swing of things
or not
not feeling
anything
(writing
listing
poetry-ing)
was i this
lost
this time
last
year?
~~~
trying
to writing
with songs with words
we’ll see how this goes
~~~
was music all i needed
for me to feel like
this is a real morning???
is that
actually
what i’m doing
when i write
and post
my poetry?
i’m fitting myself
into each word
and phrase
and whichever one
comes closest
to revealing the true
me
is the one that meets
The Void
of the interwebs?
could be,
could be…
how am i
so good at hinting
in poetry–
‘whining the whole night’
an indication
of no rest/
stressful sleep/
loud noises/
what exhaustion comes
the morning after/
etc.
but i can’t just show
and not tell/
indicate
and not explain/
let the reader
figure it out
in fiction
why???
kipventures 