lend me a
bit of a
repose
jump in and then
jump out for a
moment
i can run and run
and get things done
but i need a break every
now and again
even if it’s just half an hour
to write my morning poetry
[and then back to grinding]
lend me a
bit of a
repose
jump in and then
jump out for a
moment
i can run and run
and get things done
but i need a break every
now and again
even if it’s just half an hour
to write my morning poetry
[and then back to grinding]
i wonder
if i whiled away my morning hours
finding the rhymes
and alliterations with time,
if i’d feel more
connected/
more a part of/
more in line
with my silly morning poems —
if i seriously sat still
thinking of the perfect line
the perfect rhyme
the perfect kind of poem to
express
and impress
and decompress
and perhaps then
i’d force my poems on others
[but, as it stands now, i can only make that happen
for like half to two thirds of a full poem,
and then i let go the pretense, and get back to the words
that just make sense
with my morning brain]
i suppose trying to vaguely rhyme
and just kinda going with whatever appears
is better than forcing rhymes just for the sake of
a rhyme scheme interfering
with the processing that my own poetry is making
but i can’t help but thinking
that there’s more magic in installing
some sort of force around these words mine
[do they need a border to force-cross
to build up the power
to let the magic
out?]
i work so much better when i have a project
than when i’m left to my own devices
i can’t escape feeling
like i have something i should be doing
but i can’t get off my ass to try, either.
my brain started the day
just craving sleep
it moved on to listing/spreadsheeting/
organizational breathing deep—-
the calm that comes from analytical endeavors
and i assumed that would negate the need for poetry
but my surprise rises in perpetuity
as i spit rhymes and find lines i didn’t know i
craved
with the very soul of me
i’ve expressed so much in so little time
in so very few lines
and it’s not even 9…
wake
myself up
with poetry
widen my eyes
with words
pump my veins
with phrases
of soft rhymes
and alliterations
and pick up the pace
of morning
with stanzas of
longing
and beauty
wake
myself up
with poetry
sleepy puppies
and writing spouses
sneaky cats
and work on houses
long-ass days
and even longer nights
when there is no internet to help
with career or comfort plights
a twenty-first century struggle bus
~~~
how is it that
when i skip one day of writing
i feel like i’ve lost
every fibre of creativity
and every ounce of self-discipline
and every last little thing i learned
over the past near year and a half?
~~~
one more poem
one more rhyme
simply to get myself
better in my mind
to see the time
and time again roll
to see myself
as i always wanted to be
and to finally see me
as i was meant to be
futuristically
and fully
sometimes
creativity
just needs a
change of scenery—
a trip to the coffee shop
or to a whole new continent
but sometimes, a simple switch
from table to couch
is all that was needed
~~~
interesting—
i pride myself on variety
on variating my verbs and adjectives
and nouns
too;
repeated words and phrases
(unless used in threes or themes)
cause me such duress
that half my writing time is spent
searching
for the
perfect
word
in thesauruses
and dictionaries
online—
trying to continue the thought
but include intentional alliteration
without the clumsiness of
a word
repeated—
to me that is the mark of a novice
or just a messy writer
(maybe not when others do it,
but definitely when it shows up in my work)
but
the last few days, i’ve had
repeated words
a couple of same-phrases
sitting in close proximity
in one poem
without the third to make it a theme
and i think my soul is experimenting with
imperfection
with finding a simple/correct phrase
and sticking to it—
embracing
the words my mind came up with in the moment
and going with it
and seeing what comes of it.
~~~
i’m writing
and writing
and writing down
the thoughts as they come
the words as they crown
(is that rhyme too obvious?
that metaphor too gross?
or perhaps just too femme-y
for male-bodied bros?)
but my intention
for this one poem
is simply to keep going
keep writing
keep growing
keep feeding the fire
and the belly of desire
to write words forever
(or at least until my word count
inspires
an ending)
quiet the mind,
shush the brain,
but don’t force the silence
because then that’s all that remains.
i wonder if that’s why others’ poetry
takes longer to write;
because rhythm/rhyme/meter
don’t all happen in one night,
or just one setting,
like sitting in this morning page sun
listening to Japanese hip-hop lofi
and just kinda ~wish~ my scheme into one
sentence
then another
and another
and losing track
and losing steam
and losing the scheme
i [vaguely] thoughtfully put in here
and hearing the rhymes in my head
but only scattered/stilted/disjointed/
disappointed
i continue on
disrupting any complex pattern that might have arisen
so i can continue on this mess of a poem
and pretend that’s just
How I Write
(instead of
how
i think)
peppermint candy cane
leaking onto my tongue
and the prospect of a year
just barely begun
and the lofi beats
ringing in my ears
and the concept of dreams
fulfilled in place of fears
and one more stanza
to make this poem full
though rhyme schemes are for squares
maybe i can pull
this one off
[[guess not]]