Wow. So I know it’s been a little under two months since my last post, but I’m hoping that once the cooler weather returns to Portland, I will be inclined to post more often. That will mean blog entries as well as shorter posts like this one.
Though this blog won’t testify to it, I have been writing up a storm. Between July and August, I wrote 33 poems, between September and October, I will write 37, and in November and December, 41 poems will come pouring out of me, somehow.
Now, when I eat breakfast in the morning, I am thinking of the poem, and throughout each day my mind is tuned constantly to a poetic frequency. The next poem must always be on my mind, in some capacity.
So far, no haiku. No extremely short-form. Hopefully, it will remain that way. I began this poetry quota so that I could practice writing and practice it more frequently, and eventually discover along the way some level of output that allows me to balance my life and the requirements of being a prolific writer (as nearly all good writers must be in order to be good writers in the first place). I knew I could write more than I had been the last few years, so I embarked on this fool’s errand. By the end of 2010, I will reconfigure the system toward equilibrium, but still try to exploit the wave of poetic momentum that will follow December’s 21 pieces, and the approximately 175 poems that will come out of this year’s efforts.
That’s about all for now. This month I am doing 3 poems for every 5 days that elapses, so I’d better get back to it…
Here’s a laundry list of the poems I’ve written since my last poetry update, from most recent (last night) to most remote (early July):
All, and none: “I’m lover, and friend, confidante and foe, / brother, son, teacher, / bag of flesh, star-seeker and speck / of dust: how can I be all, / and none of these people?”
First, second, third: “Ten minutes in this place of echoes, / and I will be here forever.”
Tomorrow (is a cruel mistress)
Threat: “Help unduly offered and disastrously followed / threatens even the tight fabric of misery / and well-crafted matrices of despair.”
Disappointment: “Between sections in the great wall / hope or barbarism seeps through.”
Columbia: “this green rivet bridge, forcing memory / into a space sufficiently narrow to strangle / it in”
Every poem that falls from my hands day-in and -out
Take it back: “We’re being reintroduced to air / and the trolley tracks and the seas / inside shells. Our hands, to trees. / Our lips, to future words to be spoken.”
With time: “With time new lives too / are like stallions and mares untethered.”
Heavier Than Mercury
Lunch: “at this table, / where you and whatever part of me / you are currently eating converge.”
Manifest: “Freckles that darken in summer / the distinctive markings of / this, my only manifestation, / a symphony in small parts.”
Age: “Six years old. Ten years old. // Pepper-grinder cats’ claws / on the door.”
The heart is an embarrassment to the chest if it’s not on fire.
It’s just like clouds: “I tell you there’s a woman down the hall, / kind of a long-haired chihuahua”
Grindaderas: “Whenever I can / I make trouble, make problems / make runny protocols sit / straight-backed”
This city is not in my head: “Struck stuff, the city / treads water, backpedaling / structures until they strike / pavement.”
Mission Creep: “Here is where we learn / of everything beyond what we thought / was needed and all that must still be done. / Our love is a fiery / problem-maker.”
Dead Zone: “Sun baking street baking me, / loop of fire punctuated by the glare from the cars”
Explain it to the Greeks
Spaghetti Western: “How does the mind / victim see two places / as one?”
There’s not a soul alive remembers me: “I was the fence / your father put up around / his shaky family”
The sky is a DJ
When the ground shifts: “Under your feet you look to everything breakable. Later, / it’s the books unread / on the shelf.”
Test, test, test
Thanks for reading, and have a pleasant week!