This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
I have started to edit some of these mostly the kids poetry. I think there might be enough here for a book. We shall see.
I make no claim that much of this is “good” poetry. But I do make the claim that I loved doing it and I learned something and some of it makes me cry.
is cheese stretchy?
sometimes the words
they won’t move around
just sit there like rocks
will make no nice sound
I push them and pull them
like taffy or cheese
but words can be stubborn
I even say please
wait, cheese isn’t stretchy!!
how did that word jump in?
it’s getting quite crazy
I’m gonna let the words win
What makes a good poem?
What makes a good poem?
To be honest I can’t really tell.
One reader claims perfect genius
while another mimes awful smells.
Two different reactions
to the same collection of words,
perhaps the system of judgment
rings faulty and a little absurd.
A poem only just sits there,
organized marks on a page.
Consider this measure of goodness —
is it static or does it engage?
Do the words beg you to say them?
Gather sounds up in your mouth?
Find their natural cadence,
climb north then dip down south.
Others may have an answer
but I truly can’t say.
To me, a poem — to write one —
a simple, plain form of play.
turns and twists
bread and butter
father and mother
sparrow and hawk
key and lock
dark and light
stage and fright
words for things
that go together
in different ways
but none is better
just the way
the world relates
words for things
like love and hate
might be pairs
of opposites
or two things
that really fit
regardless though
these pairs exist
this only just
a starting list
my poem, I do spy
Today the time it flew
Like a sparrow in the sky
It’s almost 5pm
No poem, my oh my!
The day, it almost ended
My streak almost untended
But here I am again
My poem, I do spy!
one little poem
one little poem
a collection of words
one little poem
neither sweet nor absurd
one little poem
a few simple rhymes
one little poem
eight easy lines
twenty-six words (1)
some days
you know
the words
won’t come
those days
they aren’t
very fun
i’ve learned
to just
give up
and say
tomorrow is
another day
The Question of Toast
A piece of toast is delicious!
Are those carbs really malicious?
What can I add
to lower the bad,
make my breakfast treat more nutritious?
Something
Something silly
Something sweet
Something short
Something neat
I have to write my poem today
But once again have little to say
I’ve learned the way out of this trap
Is to let the words come out like crap
Sometimes I find something
Sometimes I don’t
Looks like today....today...
I won’t
( ...or did I? 😉 )
this little word
A word controlled my mind today
and I couldn’t make it leave.
It insisted that I listen,
it gave me no reprieve.
It stood there oh so boldly
begging me to see
that what it held inside itself
was put there just by me.
Without all of my stories
it was nothing really much.
What it needed me to do
was pack it with more stuff.
So I wrote a tiny poem
about this little word,
watched it as it flew away
because I called the word a bird.
I Wanted to Write
I wanted to write about the wind
But my words kept blowing away
I wanted to write about the trees
But my ideas got tangled in the branches
I wanted to write about the sun
But my words got too close and burned
I wanted to write about ideas
And my words started blowing and got tangled and hot
some dilly, some dally
a life filled with silly fun things
like dawdle and scribble and maybe some zing
times when you rest and lay in the grass
let nagging worries walk on right past
dangle your feet in some cool water
wasting time becomes your new charter
start adding in some dilly, some dally
stroll on down to green lazy valley
turn all your work into your play
life just might be better this way
a carrot shaped idea
where do ideas come from
are they hidden underground
growing like a potato
waiting to be found
do they float around the sky
like fine pieces of dust
still air lets them settle
busyness disrupts like a gust
maybe they exist already
in our giant brain
waiting for the right conditions
clouds forming to make rain
or perhaps they are given
from something we can’t see
listening to the silence
this might be the key
my favorite conjecture here is they
are growing in the ground
waiting for us to find them
so we must dig around
get our hands dirty
use our mind spade
and play what
carrot shaped
idea have I
unearthed
today?
the writer in the lab
boiling words
mixing phrases
letter filled beakers
sentence blazes
preposition powders
verb based compounds
bonding meaning
testing for sound
hypothesis made
reaction starts
add the catalyst
touch the heart
charge
I’m out of charge
my phone just died
my laptop stopped
my willful side has been dried
He’s out of charge
his money’s gone
his gun won’t shoot
his name just John no more Don Juan
She’s out of charge
she missed the cape
she let them off
from red tape she did escape
We aren’t in charge
the time goes by
we work and try
we look to the sky and wonder why
revealing silence
to be forcibly put on mute
to be ordered to lose your voice
a modern sort of torture — seen as travesty
to want an experience of no sound
to seek a noiseless still place
a nearly impossible feat — seen as tragedy
the irony of silence in our modern world
a condition we abhor if ordered
a condition if desired not found