[Poem a Day] “Shatter Risk”

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Tad late today. Been navigating a few unfamiliar subway lines, trying to get to Brooklyn in one piece. Probably going to keep this one brief – I’m out and about for most of today.

Thank god for smartphones.

I know I’ve written about them to all hell, but I always get the urge to scrawl out lines about the subway when I’m down here. Maybe it’s a minor obsession. Your guess is as good as mine.

[Poem a Day] “Wrong Notes”

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I’ve never been the kind of guy to keep a planner.

I mean, I’ve tried. I guarantee you, if I were to search through the disaster zone that is the back corner of my closet right now, I’d probably find two to four fairly nice-looking planners from a couple years ago that haven’t even been touched.

That kind of planning makes me nervous – always has. I’m sure it works for some people – and if you’re the kind of person who marks their schedule down for the week and follows it to the letter, more power to you.

…maybe that’s the reason I haven’t really gotten a rough draft for a book written up until this year, but hey, we’re not all perfect. 😉

[Poem a Day] “We’re Trying Not To Look”

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Noticing the seasons changing gets to me if I sit and think about it for too long.

I’m still in this process right now of submitting to publication after publication, all the while working hard at getting my book to a place where I feel right releasing it. But while I feel like I’m plugging away pretty steadily, my work still exists in this sort of unproven state. The only following I have is on Instagram, and that isn’t even my best work yet. A lot of the pieces I’m really proud of are in the draft of the poetry collection, and only a literal handful of people have seen that so far.

Long story short, it’s really easy to feel like I’m not making headway sometimes, if I sit around and let myself feel sorry about it.

I think that’s pretty natural, though – especially for writers out there that haven’t really been recognized yet, or expanded their platform beyond what a social media network can offer. It’s an accomplishment to have any kind of following, I guess – especially in a severely over-saturated environment – but I’m trying to find a place where this starts to feel more real to me.

 

[Poem a Day] “Slip From The Page”

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This morning, for whatever reason, I found myself thinking of the way that paintbrushes look when you stick them into clear glasses of water.

You don’t swirl or agitate them at all, you just kind of dip them a little bit and watch the color come off in these ethereal, wispy trails that just twist and coil and turn over and over until eventually the color fades and just takes hold of the space.

I’m not sure if newspaper does the same thing in puddles, actually, but that’s the kind of visual I was going for with those first few lines. I like to imaging the words stay intact for a little while – letters rotating in space before just bleeding into unintelligible ink.

[Poem a Day] “An Even Tug”

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Some days, I feel as though my time spent with a word document open is equal parts writing and staring out the window. It’s almost like a natural resting state – in the breath between words, my eyes just travel to that familiar place – the tree outside, the lines of fences stretching behind house after house, the traffic lights you can just barely make out through the gaps in the foliage at night.

I’ve written about all of those things a couple of handfuls of times. Maybe this is just the mind’s unconscious search for a little bit of inspiration.

From the angle my desk is at, though, I can’t really catch the setting sun. I can see its fringes – the outer rim of the last brilliant burst before golden hour dies. It isn’t quite the same as watching the sun dip below the world, though – and I think it’s something we tend to take for granted.

Sure, say what you will about sunset poetry being played out and cliched. I can hardly disagree. But cliches are rooted in something – a common experience that everyone feels in unison and personally all at once. I think even the coldest of us would be hard pressed to watch the sun slip under the horizon and not feel anything stirring.

Even if you’re not going to write about it, it helps to just feel that sometimes. Take it from me.

[Poem a Day] “First Breaths”

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About a year ago, I was obsessed with trying to work a certain line into a piece -“Trying to find god in our coffee”. I didn’t really even have some kind of concrete idea of what I meant by it, subtly or overtly – I just really liked the way it sounded as an opening. Ended up writing an entire long form piece with that line as the hook, but I can’t help but feel like I didn’t quite do it justice, especially given the writer I think I was a year ago.

It’s a real good thing no one heard the poem save for a group of bleary eyed college kids at a 6 PM poetry workshop. Keeping it tucked in my back pocket until I really feel some lines that can hold it up.