my mind fills with stories
my eyes close and see words
language was always about translation
from thoughts to forms others understood
but here in this moment
when opportunity meets momentum
only morning pages
will ever
get done
~~~
but is that
so bad
a thing?
~~~
i know i could write prose in poetry
i know i could tell a story esoterically
but my words still only seem fit
to express the feelings
in my own life
how could i tell another’s?
the whole concept of writing
right now
feels egregious
to me
to sit in solemn silence
and ponder grand plans
tiny details
and all between
and simply translate them
to characters in words upon a screen
i don’t know why i
can go from sixty to zero
from brain chattering every day
so much to do, so much more to say
all the previous yesterdays
and then today
be struck
stuck
stagnant
and frustrated
by the whole concept of language
such is the life
and times
and minds
of writers?
i think it’s funny
how every morning
i sit down to write my poetry
and [almost] every morning
as i sit
i think
to myself
“man, i am not feeling the poetry today”
but i still write
at least one
(because that was my promise
to myself)
and think about picking an older poem
to post
but then i write
and write
and write and write and write
and have a poem (or three)
to post
plus a few
for a later need
plus maybe one or two
for warmup and whatnot
and how
did i become
the person
who just churns out words
again
and again
and again
ad nauseam
what good
comes from
writing
about writing?
writing
about poetry?
writing
about waiting
and wanting
to write
so well?
i think it’s so funny
when people are funny
about their dog’s gender
the dog
doesn’t care
only you care
only you
~~~
but maybe that’s the source
right?
it doesn’t matter what the misgendered person’s gender is
it doesn’t matter how they feel at all
it’s all about the
person
in power—
the parent
or owner
or law maker
am i right?
~~~
experimentation
with imperfection
with writing
without rewriting
with whimsy
and morning brain
and coffee-less veins
and only a little bit
of contemplation
before composition
before posting
again
is there any use
in continuing
little habits
on a day
when it feels like
everything is out of control
(but somehow you made it this way?)
~~~
big feels
little poems
tiny words
you got it
~~~
the leaves
are changing
on the tree outside–
each green
bordered with a red
literally
glowing
in the morning sun
waving to me
in a gentle breeze
and letting me know
this autumn
will be
safe
~~~
breaking up big topics
into bite-sized pieces
the poetry way
~~~
the problem
(one of them)
with having such a vast array
of works
is that i don’t know
which one
two
or three
to send in
to potentially be
published
(especially these little bois—
where
and how
do they
belong?)
~~~
self
publishing?
(it is an option)
how am i
so good at hinting
in poetry–
‘whining the whole night’
an indication
of no rest/
stressful sleep/
loud noises/
what exhaustion comes
the morning after/
etc.
but i can’t just show
and not tell/
indicate
and not explain/
let the reader
figure it out
in fiction
why???
writing poetry
while puppies play
is a split attention
activity
when i show friends
these words
there is an unspoken trust
and an irrational fear
the trust is to read
the fear is that they
have read
but the fear is also
of breaking of trust
that i am still somehow
too much
and not enough
too many poems
not enough time
in our society
that has no reason or rhyme
for when you’re allowed to just sit
and ponder poetry
and when you have to be hustling
because with self-care culture
relaxation has become another side hustle
and being in the moment
is simply a competition
to see who does it
‘right’
but i digress
and am getting ahead of myself
(or really, beside,
because i’m not sure where this poem
was trying to align itself
to begin with)
whenever i show
a friend
a loved one
this here poetry blog
i am both terrified
that they’ll read it
and terrified
that they won’t
maybe i should publish
the first year
just so new folks
have context
for the rest of this
craziness
i’ve been writing
for
450 days
writing poetry
every morning
for
450 days
and this is still my
wake-up
this is still my
focus-time
this is still my
resistance
you know?
~~~
itching for adventure
one coming up soon
not soon enough?
~~~
the plan
is planned
for today
stick to it?
i may…
kipventures 