can i just
pick up
where a poem left off?
~~~
and continue the poetry
will it still be magical?
will it still be me?
~~~
i mean, probably
it has to be
because it is still me
who’s writing all the words
right?
can i just
pick up
where a poem left off?
~~~
and continue the poetry
will it still be magical?
will it still be me?
~~~
i mean, probably
it has to be
because it is still me
who’s writing all the words
right?
i don’t actually know what it means
to be
a great writer
a great poet
i’m just sitting here
at my messy dinner table
early in the morning
writing whatever comes to mind
as a way to encourage myself
to deal with the day
that is coming towards me
at breakneck speed
maybe,
when you’re in your ‘fighting a [seemingly] losing war
against fascism with the best tool you have —
kindness’ era
you’ll understand
~~~
i feel like this kind of morning
and this kind of writing
is the reason i started this challenge to begin with
i feel more awake
more aware
more ready to start my day
though i still need to edit and pick and send in the audition
i feel so much more prepared for it
now
~~~
“you look like such a writer!”
of my big sweater
comfy tee
glasses
bun
and coffee in hand
and i do, don’t i?
i do…
writing
trying to outpace
the time it takes
to run down my laptop battery
and
the arrival of our breakfast day
a little adrenaline
to start
today
in photography, i have no problem
taking tens
of hundreds
of thousands of photos
knowing that somewhere in there,
there will be a great picture —
gorgeous
experimental
framed well
captured beautifully
and composition, exquisite
and even in poetry, mornings of multitudes,
all my poems
multiple
every morning, i know
not every poem will be great
but somewhere in here
there may be something
to write home about
then why oh why do i shy away from
the writing of prose/novels/
or plays?
as if i need my first try to be
so great
otherwise i should just
give
up
?
is it simply that it takes so much longer to write
longer form, than it does to slap dash down a poem
or capture a second or few
in a non-moving image?
so the effort to output
ratio feels more
[risky]
[or am i so scared of something more/or less scary?]
i wish i saw through poet’s eyes
the beauty of the earth at all times —
but instead i see the pain and despair
and try to beautify that
with impassioned speeches/
or try to find the tiniest spec
of lovely
in a day full of pain/
and make the mundane
beautiful again
though it doesn’t really feel like
poetry
to me
without grand sunsets
or allegories of bees and flowers,
i’m over here trying —
making beauty out of angst
and bubble gum
build a concept
from words and stanzas,
make it stand like the structure of a house
but the house still needs full walls and floors and a roof to keep it dry
so decide:
are the walls paragraphs of a story?
is the foundation actually one a play can stand upon?
or will the covering shelter end up being a whole novel?
or will it stay a poem forever?
only reviewing and editing can do that —
but only writing the first few words
will give you the skeleton
to build upon
writing out what i need to work through,
but jumbles of feelings
and half-formed stanzas of
partially-formed thoughts
aren’t really something i’d want to share with
‘the public’
[or even, really, with myself]
so i guess i’ll write about writing
for the three-hundredth
three-thousandth
three-millionth time
and post that here
and hope
it at least makes some sense
and doesn’t feel too
deja vu-y
the poetry is stilted
today
usually, if i get distracted
i catch myself staring off into space
for minutes
before i look back at my
half-finished poem
and then i take a moment to figure out
if i can reasonably get back into it
or not
but there is a moment
between realizing i’ve lost my concentration
and trying to get it back
that i know so well
and i keep having that moment
that feeling
without the minutes of staring off into nothingness
like my brain has decided it cannot concentrate
on even one poem this morning
and instead i must shatter my attention
into a million tiny bits
and hopefully i can repair them
into something resembling
a poem
how come some of my best poems
are those where i turn my
whole brain off?
just a quick little morning poetry today
gotta do it
gotta do it
if only to wake myself up
to be in the moment
and help for tomorrow
and tomorrow’s tomorrow
to get in the habit
again
of writing
and writing
and writing
my thoughts out
each morning
each moment
digested through
poetry