poems pulsating
through my mind
as i find
myself
at that coast of consciousness
trying to remember
the words as they came together
the alliteration and rhyme
after so much time
asleep
and in the morning
nothing
ever
comes to me.
poetry about poetry
May 28, 2022
wow.
pavlovian response to
lofi music playing:
immediate urge to poetry.
~~~
some days
(most days)
i need the poetry-writing to wake me up
(the coffee is simply comfort-waking
now
rather than an actual stimulant)
but then
some days
(rarely)
(but it does happen)
i need the coffee/the doing/the something
in order to wake myself up
before
i start to write the poetry.
today was one of the latter
days
~~~
a reference?
a reference only my spouse and i will understand?
a reference that might simply be an inside joke in poetry-form?
it’s more likely than you’d think!
May 21, 2022
trying not to write poetry
for the blog
and only for me
makes my writing
come to life
in a way
i want to
immediately
show off
(perhaps
that’s the key
to every success)
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.
May 11, 2022
poetry
is coming
[and going]
this morning
nothing sticking around long enough
to become a full fledged poem
but damn, are my tried and true topics
flinging themselves towards my brain
making me start
multiple
pieces
just to get bored and toss them aside
(or get distracted by other things
and totally lose my stride)
so
poetry
this morning
is coming
and it’s going
and i’m just a vessel
half finished poems
can flow through
[maybe to you]
April 29, 2022
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?
March 28, 2022
i really don’t know what i’m doing.
my only post-secondary education
in poetry
was over a decade ago
and i can’t really remember
anything i learned
(granted, that’s probably from
all the trauma/trauma responses
i was experiencing
at the time),
but i digress…
i feel like my skills
with words
would improve
if i could just
Remember
those words.
i often know exactly what i want to say,
and that there is a word
that’s perfect,
but i can’t for the life of me
remember it.
or i know what to say
and i also suspect
there’s an even better word
that would fit the scheme/
rhyme/alliteration/pattern
better than what i have down already
and the harder i try to think
the better i understand
all those analogies
of holding sand
in tightly grasped hands
the desperation
erases
all sense of
every word
i’ve ever known.
so that’s why my poetry
is a little
imperfectionistic,
a little
‘flying by the seat of my pants’,
a little
self-aware/meta/laughing at my own poems,
because otherwise
the grasp would be even tighter
and the only remaining
grain
of sand
would be that of my name
(and even that
i don’t always remember
right away)
March 26, 2022
interestingly,
i think a lot of poetry
that takes itself seriously
is the poetry
that
takes days
maybe even weeks
(months? years?)
to write;;
and i enjoy my
fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants/
reference-my-own-writing/and/
my-strengths-and-weaknesses/
make-jokes-at-my-own-expense/
a-little-bit-meta/
poetry-writing.
and i think part of the reason it works
is because i’m churning out
poem
after poem
day
after day
and if i were to
ponder every syllable
and say something
as if i weren’t just a human
typing some words on a computer,
there wouldn’t be that kind of levity
[or brevity]
//long ago
poetry was an art
with all kinds of rules and regulations,
but i get bored and frustrated
playing inside of boxes,
so this time-period
when all rules of poetry
are being re-hashed
and it’s far more about
how a poem makes you feel
than anything else,
this is my time to shine
[and my time is mine]
//
kipventures 