feeling disenchanted
with words
my drive to churn out
poetry
or prose
has been quelled by the concept of
more interpretative media
music?
painting?
cake decorating?
what will my next endeavor be?
[and will i still come back to poetry
every morning]
[i mean, i haven’t stopped in literal years,
so probably]
sometimes you just gotta end
a poem
when it decides it’s time
to end
pondering poetry
pensively pensating in poetical form
what is poetry if not
words hanging out on a jungle gym
just waiting for their moment
to show off
a family
a train ride
and thousands of sunflowers
in fields rolling past
at 266 km/h
and somehow it all reminds me of
van Gogh’s paintings
and how much i want to become
an impressionist
~~~
i just got so confused
as to why the baby in front of me
wasn’t crying in response to the
baby crying in the next train car over
and then i remembered that babies are not dogs
who bark and howl to be heard by others
of their species…
~~~
this whole trip
is a whirlwind
this whole life
kind of is
too
at least i have a train car
inside which to sit and write
all my silly poems
~~~
every
single
time
another train passes directly by
i
am
startled
~~~
there are
so many more palm trees
than i ever would have expected
in Europe
[i think that’s on me tho,
because climate is a known thing]
~~~
i think
if you’ve seen
any
van Gogh painting
of nature
or landscape
you’ve seen the full spirit of
what these trains speed past
having not written
my full 300 words
in damn near five days,
i expected to struggle to even get past
the first hundred mark
but here i am
skating over into the two-hundred zone
and i should have known
i should have known
it’s not that i’d forget
poetry-writing
or block it up
for future poetics
it’s that i haven’t been able to get things
out
in days
and i am a fountain
about to unleash
a river’s worth of flow;
a dam
that is bursting at the seams
with words and stanzas
and ideas and dreams
[and, of course, metaphors and similes]
there is a flood of poetry
erupting from me
i really should have known
i’m just writing words
and the minute i move on
to the next line, the words above
seem to fade from my mind
immediately
i wonder if this is going to be
simply the state of
today
sometimes
i need to remind myself
that i needn’t set out to change minds
when i write from my own soul
no certain goal in my mind
that’s when others’ are impacted
and yes, sometimes, changed
[but what if the mind i need to change
is my own?]
but what to write about
when my brain feels so tired
and exhausted from trying to
be creative all week
and knowing that there’s still a couple of things
left to adjust
and fix and mix in
but it’s ok
for a first
draft
it’s ok
for my first
try
it’s ok
for a first
and maybe even a second
or maybe
maybe
maybe
it’s better than ok
for all of those things
[i need to believe
in my creativity
more]
gibberish poems
can become
gibberish songs
which may be
exactly what i need to do
in order to stop me
from overanalyzing
and overjudging
and overscrutinizing
my own creativity
spectacular
spectacle
and spectacles help us all
see
wonders
in our own
and each others’
eyes
for once
for twice
for as many times
as we might find a rhyme
and/or reason
to climb
and explore
and discover
and become
one
with some sort of
happiness
[if we can
if we can]
~~~
there’s still a bit of
misalignment
when it comes to
my own self
and my poet self
and i cannot tell if that’s because
i don’t perform my own poetry enough
that it becomes as second nature as
acting
or aerial
or simply listening
but my own poetry
i have to remind myself
‘i made this
and it isn’t
half
bad’
~~~
or perhaps it’s because
i’m all self-taught
and i’m just flying by
the seat of my pants
and i can’t totally tell
what works and what’s a fail
except that
some poems flow like water
and some drip like sludge
and every now and then
i find a rhyme that tastes as good as it sounds
but i don’t know how i found any of that
it just happens
through trial and error
every
single
time
like i’m always starting
from one
kipventures 