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.
one of those days
Today is one of those days
When the words don’t easily come
I struggle along for what feels like long hours
Then I tell the truth and I’m done
These words today
These words today
Won’t come and play
They twist and turn
Then run away
I’ve started more than
Thirty verses
I’ve muttered more than
Eighty curses
I’m giving up
The words have won
At least for now
I can say done
Really Late
Can you believe it?
I really am this late.
My poem writing recently
is clearly not so great.
I keep on not doing
the thing I ought to do
which is wake up in the morning
and first thing write to you.
I will do that tomorrow
and the day right after that
but for now the thing is done
and I’m hanging up my hat.
What a poem is?
Are poems supposed to be pictures
painted just with words?
Dense, tense and grief-filled
or maybe even absurd?
Perhaps a little reflection —
a truth you find in life?
Sometimes a kind of story
filled with joy or even some strife?
I’m not sure what a poem is
though I write one everyday.
A picture, idea or metaphor
or maybe just some play?
weeping on a monday
in the beginning this was easy
that beginning is long gone
writing one thing every day
sure has become a yawn
need to keep on going
the promise made to keep
but oh this is so very hard
it almost makes me weep
one thing’s truly true
as you read another bomb
hope you are not sorry
you agreed to come along
😳
Still Stings
I said I would write
One everyday
And in the beginning
It all felt like play
Now that I’ve missed
That one silly time
I find a temptation
To stop the whole climb
Give up and stop
End the whole thing
I debate everyday
That blip, it still stings
Years of Mondays
Once again the sun does peek
Once again you start your week
Once again the day does dawn
Once again you sing your song
Once again your life takes shape
Once again choices you make
Once again the gift appears
Once again days turn to years
the streak is done
I can’t believe it
the streak is done
I forgot my poem
my heart feels wrung
I completely totally
just forgot
I feel so sad
it was all for naught
I will keep going
with one black mark
sunday august 22
it all went dark
:-(
My goal had been to write one poem a day for all of 2021 but I missed yesterday. Now what? Do I have to start over in 2022??
Words that
I want to write
Lovely words
Words that
Burn off the page
Words that
Find some quiet
New truth
But my words are
Words that
Have a cheap aluminum feel
Here I weave not gold but tin foil
But even the flimsy
Find some truth
Sometimes
memory like a flash
I wrote my poem yesterday
but then forgot to post.
If I had not remembered
my streak would have been toast!
Not sure how I remembered,
it came in like a flash.
I’m thankful for my memory,
my dream has not been dashed!
Very Late Indeed
Today is almost over
and my poem isn’t done
Today was a day that
the lazy almost won
But here I am right now
it may be late indeed
But here is a short poem
that you, my friend, can read
Once again I have done it
Once again I am here
Once again I thank you
for being here my dear
I forgot my poem!
It finally happened!
I can not believe!
I forgot my poem!!
Oh my! Geez!
It feels like summer...
and I wanted to play!
I forgot my poem!!
The day got away!
I feel so bad!
I had a streak!
I forgot my poem!!
But all is not bleak...
It is later than normal...
...almost 1 hour...but
I remembered my poem!
I hope you’re not sour!
Here I am now
My self I do scold... but
I remembered my poem!
My streak, it will hold!!
Tough Times to Find Some Rhymes
Why can’t I do this? What have I done?
I’m thinking so hard and the words — they won’t come!
I push them and pull them and tear them apart.
Sit here in anguish, examine my heart.
How can it be that all is so vacant?
Is my own soul now meek and complacent?
Strike an idea, stoke a hot flame,
burn away nonsense, some essence remains...
Not on this morning, not in this place,
instead just some words to fill up some space.
Today was a day
Today was a day
I wanted to give up
Today was a day
When going got quite rough
Today was a day
I did it anyway
Today was a day
When grit came out to play
Today was a day
I had to really try
Today was a day
A life is measured by
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? 😉 )
glistening with hope
yesterday i listened
to beautiful words
luminous and true
today i write
these small words
words that go clunk
his needle wove silk
mine straw
his beat a perfect bell
mine a tin can
a wizard alight with purpose
an apprentice sweeping the floor
does hearing beauty help us make it?
does the sound penetrate into some interior space
locked behind secret doors
opened with keys earned through practice?
or is that beauty a gift
a random allotment
bestowed ?
today i hold no answer
i sweep my floor
ring my tin can
weave my straw
hear the rhythm
of that purposeful silken thread
and glisten with hope
three six five
i said that i would write
a poem every day
i find myself asking —
will it be ok??
can i find the words
to fill up three six five
keep having more ideas
will my hobby....survive?
it is an awful lot of days
all strung together
what i can say is this —
i’m thankful for the weather
that is always changing
somewhere to reflect
but this is pretty hard...
just want to be direct
i plan to keep on going
no matter the season
i said that i would do it
that is the big reason
i’ve said it before
i will say it again here
thank you for your reading,
for being here this year
❤️