sitting kips
perching cats
lazing puppies
lofi beats
typing fingers
purring felines
windy fans
buzzing electricity
and caffeined beverages
someday i’ll be able to stand up again
and do some more morning things
but for now, this cat is keeping me sitting
so i’ll continue writing
for as long as she needs
my lap
every now and then i get scared
off from sharing this poetry blog because
what if my best poems are behind me
and those i invite to read only see now and upcoming
and never ever see the good stuff?
shall i write in silence
or to the music of the a/c unit
as it strains its last legs
against this most recent heat wave
[will these legs last the next heat wave?
the rest of the summer?
into next year?
forever?]
all these scraps of songs
portions of poems
i’ve written in fits and starts
bursts of energy
of creativity
of enlightened states of being
just to fizzle out
after one verse
one chorus
one instance
of what i truly want to say
and have nowhere to go
no how-to-end-it
no place to place my hat up on the wall and say
“i’m satisfied with my words”
morning pages
in the evening
as the fireworks
sparkle and pop
boom and bang
shatter and static
and startle the puppy
awake
how do morning pages feel so much better
with my kip sitting across from me
and a cup of cold coffee in my hand
and a cat perched upon my lap
and a puppy underneath my chair
and everything as it is meant to be?
when did i start liking
consistency?
interesting
without music
my brain only half focuses
like it does
with music with words
why does my focus only work on such
strict, specific auditory inputs?
skip days of writing
write while others are speaking
maybe the focus isn’t what i need,
but the divided attention,
to complete my goals
with creativity
interesting when i write a poem
and can feel the subject matter/concept
has something there, but that the poem itself
is a rough rough rough first draft, like i know
i’ll have to re-write and maybe even re-re-write
but the subject
and a few lines
of this first try
are usable
and i don’t feel the overwhelming failure
that a ‘not good enough’ poem usually brings me,
because this is simply an opportunity
to write it out better/more accurate/in a way that everyone
might
identify with me and understand.
i am struggling this morning
and that’s ok
that’s ok
that’s ok
i don’t need to churn out perfect poems
and mind-bending perspectives
each and every day
one poem to post
simplistic and chill
as these other ideas percolate
for another morning poem time
and i can let myself be imperfect
i can let myself be imperfect
i can let myself be imperfect
i can.
kipventures 