It’s why we watch a movie twice,
reread a book, walk the same route home.
The familiar calls,
comforts,
and sometimes it hurts.
So easy to default to bad habits;
what goes into our mouths,
what comes out of our mouths.
The choices we make,
who we are,
who we love,
the illusion of control in a random,
uncontrollable world where knowing
what comes next is the biggest illusion of all.
#75
So, I just posted my 74th poem in this second “poem a day for a year” challenge and I thought I’d pause and talk a little about the phenomenon, lol.
I write and post these poems first thing in the morning, before I get out of bed (I have my trusty netbook by my side) and only rarely have I ever broken that ritual; like when I’m on vacation and away from home etc…
Consequently, I rarely take more than 15 to 20 minutes to write the poem, number it, save it, and post it to the blog.
I am under no illusions that every poem will be a ‘gem’. Some end up being hurried haiku, others will be humorous allusions to how hard it is to find something to write about. But it all goes down on (virtual) paper. That’s the main reason for the challenge; to circumvent the inner critic and just get something down, no judgement, no critique. I do try to keep the punctuation reasonable and the typos down to a minimum (although I can always trust Tony to let me know when I’ve tripped up, Lol).
These poems are not the end product. The end product of my last year-long challenge was my first book of poetry “Falling Awake and other poems” which I published a year or so ago. And I’ll probably publish another book based on what I subjectively consider to be the best poems from this year’s challenge.
But before that will happen, the real work will take place. Poems will be proofed, edited, screened, perhaps shortened, perhaps lengthened, perhaps sent to that purgatory where misfit poems go to languish.
Thanks for joining me on the journey.
291 poems to go.
🙂
Linda
Gone are the days of running top speed
at hurdles, leaping, landing, launching off
towards the next one.
That is not to say the hurdles have won.
Time brings wisdom that
suggests a more thoughtful,
coordinated attack.
Bring out the step stool, detour
around the hurdles, or perhaps
just plant climbing roses at their base
and watch the hurdle bloom.
#74
When writing a list I often find
I don’t figure in the amount of time
it will take me to get all the chores completed
and the leftovers make me feel defeated.
As I gaze at all of the things left undone
I tend to ignore the other ones,
the ones I accomplished, the ones scratched off
of the list with a flourish, and I really ought
to forget feeling guilty for stuff left undone
and make up a list, as I go, of the ones
I’ve accomplished, then scratch them off of the list
that will always get longer but always be finished.
#73
In all the years
I’ve watched you grow
from my sweet baby girl
to a strong, proud woman
many things have changed.
But not your smile,
not the irresistible,
infectious giggle; deep,
rich, and totally spontaneous.
My daughter.
What did I do to deserve this honour?
#72
For every pseudo factoid there’s
someone waiting to de-bunk it.
For every thought, idea, or cause
someone originally thunk it.
And I wonder if the thunkers
are the same as the de-bunkers
excepting that, from where they sit,
they only see the opposite.
#71
Start with a blank slate
and there’s nothing to build on.
It’s better to choose.
Choose sun warmed berries,
the songs of running water,
and moonlight shadows,
The warmth of the sun,
the way aspen leaves flutter,
and wild violets.
Fill your slate and find
there’s always room for beauty,
always room for joy.
#70
A list speaks to new beginnings.
It captures the underpinnings of dreams,
like outstretched wings,
holds them still while you measure them and
calculate the distance between now and then.
Lists distill cherished outcomes
into digestible bites,
doable steps.
Lists live in the future
where everything happens
and anything is possible.
The trick is to always add another item
to the list every time you cross one off.
#69
The sun is shining.
No poetry can outshine
sun on golden leaves.
#68
🙂
First a blindfold because everyone knows
if you chase a rainbow with your eyes
open it will run away.
Like a butterfly startled by your shadow or
a wave that flattens on the shore.
Then a good friend. One who won’t play
tricks or laugh if you fall down.
Someone who knows right from
left and can give good directions.
Now walk.
With your friend calling cold,
warm, hot, or not.
Guiding your stumbling steps
to the root of the rainbow.
But beware.
Pull off the blindfold and
the rainbow will run.
But your friend will see it still,
see it ripple over you in a multi-hued state of grace.
The beauty of the rainbow is fleeting and vicarious,
to be enjoyed by those who rejoice
in the happiness of others.
#67
Thank you, Tony, for the inspiration.
Linda Studley 