•278/ the family lies asleep upstairs, while I lie downstairs trying to write—in the silence, no poems filter across the hallways—
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Monday, July 29, 2013
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Wanted to play with repetition— casual echos reshaped between lines, phrases becoming something other than their intended form. The same manner the domestic act of changing the linen of a bed is more than just making up a fresh mattress. In the end, you become the bed, the bed altering its identity to you and who ever sleep between the warm covers—
•272/ folding back bed sheets—the act turns on itself, khaki sheets poured out over the bed becoming the bed: translated, transformed—
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
•268/ afterwards, she braids her hair into tight knotted circles, wanting to keep the memory of him within, as a close embrace—
269 / before, when he left, his backwards glance provided more words than his voice could ever provide— even now his memory runs deep—
270/ his lingering scent still clings to her hands, her hair— a casual turn of the head brings it all back: his voice calling out in sleep—Experimenting with notions of fiction with the short verse form, other than autobiographical references. The latter is more expected— composing material based on an actuality, rather than a fantasy or imagine scene. But lately, my days have slipped into a level of deeper habitual patterns even beyond the average, mundane reality.
For this post, composed of three different writing sessions, I wanted to create a series of poems centered on the figure of a woman, living in an indeterminable era, yet motioning through her liaisons with a contemporary logic. Her perspective of a current lover as she goes about her day—
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Summer. Late afternoon. Walking across the neighborhood. Brendan reacts to ordinary objects made extraordinary: common blackbirds arching in the dimming light of day or drinking from water collected on sidewalks— the act of their actual being surprises his sensibilities— the newness of life.
•266/ discarded across a chair, today’s clothes waiting for a new moment— a slow moon rises outside, his eyes closed to the nightwind—
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
•262 / shadows of water oaks spill over the front porch, even as I lie in bed willing the night hour to lengthen, stretch out minutes—
Found a list of of quilt patterns— new idea for my “She-Bear” poem: create division subtitles based on these abstractions. Metaphoric representations of landscapes. Household situations. But twisted into new phrases. Different labels.
Quilt Pattern Designs
Down on the farm
Corn and beans
Rose of Sharon
Puss in the corner
Hen and chickens
Bits and pieces
Sunbonnet Sue / Overall Bill
Double wedding ring
A hole in the barn door
Road to Kansas
Old maid’s ramble
Robbing Peter to pay Paul
Double Irish chain
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
•260 / we watch barn swallows— their midday epiphanies— arching emotions across approaching thunderstorms, blue on the horizon—
261 / we watch barn swallows arch their wide epiphanies across approaching thunderstorms, smears of bluegray resting on the horizon—In the middle of prayers at church, the deacon recites a phrase which triggers a literal, linear reaction in my right brain— I forget now what the chant said— all I know, an epiphany merged in the center of my head as an answer to a poetic problem which has troubled me for over a year. An issue of abstraction versus conventional expressions. How to push creativity and still maintain logic. The poem series in question fell into language poems without channeling emotion or purpose. In other words, my persona was on stage talking within a surrounding, specific undisclosed environment— and I expected (wanted/wished/hoped) the audience to understand the character’s full hidden back story without supplying any necessary information. This was dangerous to the music of the poem and the struggling themes hidden in metaphor.
But now, now the cycle shifts forward again— no hindrances. The grounding element these works needed was a hint, a suggestion of autobiography to show the writing process. Through text, adding a subtle reference to the creation process adds an element of personality of the writing— the style’s roots exposed, so to speak. The Poet acknowledging to the Audience that the words are musical tracks and poetic metaphors— creative expressions and not elaborate symbols.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Spent a series of days flat on my back with another viral infection— again, the same effects: without warning dizzy spells, high temperatures, chills, night sweats— the silence of this carries a resonance as a lingering false echo. At the moment I do have the compulsion to write, but the words and phrases themselves do not show. Time to revisit all projects— nightly exercises. Splinters of notions.
•259 / without words, this week lingers on the edge of the mattress, curled as if asleep— yet, closely watching me, with his half-opened eyes—
Saturday, July 6, 2013
•257 / he falls into sleep, not even sounds of mowers wake him as he is lifted across the rooms, then carried up two flights of stairs—
258/ as simple as that, the child falls asleep in broad daylight, exhausted— at the corner house, barking dogs rise in tempo— still, he sleeps—
Friday, July 5, 2013
Tonight I wanted to aim for a greater sense of abstraction— blurring three images as one. By juggling the traditional syllable count to a pattern of 5-5-7-7-7, my habitual rhythms were thrown off, allowing a stronger sense of mixed impressions.
•256 / over-ripe peaches, spotted with bruises— the bowl becomes the full room— or as the full weight of day, breaking through the drawn curtains—
—all based off a paper bag of fruit my parents gave us from their trip from Plano. After a few days the bottom layer of peaches grew too soft, broke open oozing a syrupy liquid over the kitchen counter tops. The peaches became the room, their presence confirmed in sunlight.