maybe a modicum of gibberish will help this morning poem come to fruition
a conglomeration of vocabulary i may or may not know the actual definition of
a plethora of words, used correctly or incorrectly
a whole ass menagerie of meaningless syllables somehow bringing meaning to something
in this morning poetry tradition
sometimes
sometimes
sometimes
i want the
aesthetic /
the vibe
of writing
pen and paper /
ink and quill /
notebook
and brain
and nothing
else, but
oftentimes
that is just
too much /
too hassle /
too out of my
abilities in
this world,
so i simply
vibe and vibe
and write
and write and
create in the
best way i
can — laptop
and fingers
and my brain
that simply
will not quit.
i may have shot myself in the foot/
given myself a crazy amount of work to do
on this one, singular, last day of
National Novel Writing Month
but i also know i can do it —
it’ll be tough, but it’ll be achievable.
it’ll be hard
but i’m pretty damn sure
i can do it.
i easily made 3,000 words work
in one day of writing —
just two sections
and a break in-between,
so i’ll just have to do three sections
two breaks,
or more and more
if the work needs to be divided
into tinier bite-sizes
the only worry i have
is the focus
to be split
among writing
auditioning (i.e. memorizing/practicing)
and circus-ing
perhaps i’ll have to write
non-poetry
on the train
for the first time
ever…
meandering thinking
writing
reprocessing my brain-wiring
into something maybe more conducive
to living life
calmly
patiently
happily
[if i can dream]
most days i’m at least
a little
excited to write
something
but this morning
damn near
nothing
makes me want to go
the way i normally go
[i’ve been shopping for unnecessary new clothes
as if i can change my entire life
by dressing like
someone new]
my fear
is so loud
that i’ll write about something
i don’t understand
and offend
or embarrass
[others/myself in that order]
and rather than trying
and learning
i hide
and hide harder
and hide longer
and hide farther into myself
just wanting
wanting
wanting
to write
but never doing any of it in sight.
sometimes i write poetry for the page
tapering each line down just a
little bit lower so that
aesthetically it
pleases
and other times i compose rows and rows of possibilities in my head
waiting for the right syllable to fit in
and taste so good as it fills my mouth
with alliterative qualities
i can’t imagine life without
and rhymes and mines of tongue twisters
laying in wait, waiting to trip up an unsuspecting mouth
but it all settles into something that i can chew and spit spit spit
out
with a rhythm all of my own making
all of my own devising
all of my own words
humbly arriving
as they should
but
most of the time
i create for
both
i wish
i wish
i wish
i didn’t make myself cringe
with every thought or written word or
every kind of close to rhyme
i just want to create art
that doesn’t care about being art
[that is the purest kind]
what you need to understand
[‘you’ in this case meaning
a new reader to this poetry blog]
is that i do not write poetry
carefully
i do not rewrite and rerewrite and rererewrite —
i throw some ideas on my keyboard
and sometimes they become words
and sometimes those words fit together
just enough
to become a poem.
i don’t write with purpose
except to get more and more art out into the world
[and get these loud loud stanzas out of my head]
i don’t write for perfectionism’s sake
since perfectionism runs/ruins the rest of my life.
what you need to understand
is that this will never be
e.e. [cummings]
or dickinson [comma] emily
or bukowski
or angel nafis
or rupi
[though my shorter poems definitely emulate her]
these poems are rarely edited
barely re-read
not much adjusted to page from my head —
there’s no rhyme scheme
except
what sometimes fits together happenstance-ily,
and helping the chaos
reign itself in
is what i’m doing with these words
again and again and again —
so please,
heed my warning,
don’t expect much literarily from these words/phrases/stanzas/poems —
but expect me to show up
as i am this [and every] morning
and get something out
from me
to myself
[and then to you, if you want to read it]
[no pressure tho]
unlikely
friends
unseen
enemies
undeveloped
plot lines
and unresolved
illnesses
i guess a good start to november?
kipventures 