I wrote 12 poems in February of this year and 9 in March, which for me is a lot. To spur on further productivity, I decided last month to match and exceed February’s total, so in April I wrote 13 poems. This month the goal is 14, and so far I have written 8 within the first 10 days of May (.8 poems/day, while my goal would require only 0.45 poems/day).
If I continue one-upping myself in this fashion, I’ll have about 165 poems spanning February to the end of 2010, and write 21 poems in the month of December. This would be a pretty big deal, since up to the end of January 2010, I counted only about 200 pieces total since I first began writing poems in late 2005/2006. Needless to say, writing 165 poems in a single year is a huge departure from writing only 200 from late 2005 to late 2009, an average of 40 or so per year previously.
I’ve been somewhat prolific at certain periods here and there in the last few years, but nothing on the scale of what I am attempting this year. So… we’ll see how it turns out.
For the time being, I’ll stick with my current policy of not posting poems on here until after they’ve been submitted and rejected (apologies to my 1 or 2 readers, who will be forced to read what is essentially poetic chaff…).
However, I wanted to give a little sneak preview of what I’ve been writing, poetry-wise. I’m also going to post another longer miniessay at the end of this week. Topic to be determined. Below is a list of the poems I’ve written from mid-April to this morning, some with little previews included.
Night’s on fire: Where the sharp / and blurred meet, / lightning-blood snakes / through our electric veins.
The thawing wind blows: I wanted silence to stretch / her long legs across my lap.
The back porch
A worm with a map can go far: A worm with a map can go far // But once it hits the flooded streets / like all worms it will drown.
Brother: Sitting up on the mantle / in a marble urn / the fragments and sediment / of what was once a boy.
A broken-down suburban dream: When I say / what strange creatures I share space with, // you think I only mean the cats
Umbrae: The revolution here, / the futile lines there, / inescapable / historicity bleeds / out from our heads / and collects in shivering pools the past and / the bright laughter / of our fathers
Live: the unborn sound pounded out, / wrestled to the floor / like a snake and / strangled
Bright and bluish
…Thanks for reading! More to come.