Imagist poetry

Shaky voice on line

Assures good news,

Uncertain performer

eyes open and centered

stretches out his foot

hearing only disbelief

tender arms, night falls

Raw fruit picked fresh

Peeled by hand with love

Juice running down soft lips

While seeds burst from flesh,

Warm tongue lets out content sigh

Child makes foam beard

Naked in his shower

Imitates his father

Mocks his childishness

breeze flows through

Windows open wide

Peeking  through cracks
green lawn.   white fence

Daily routine

Waking in the morning

I reach out for a mug

On the counter where

8 other mugs have sat

From 8 other mornings

When I brush my hair

I consider my teeth

Slide tongue on gum

And walk out the door

Having saved toothpaste

When I pick out my outfit

I look to the pile on the floor.

Through rummaged fabric

I glance at the closet for options

I have yet to throw in here

When I look in the mirror,

A couple of stains go unnoticed

When I decide to look at my outfit

But look at my face instead

Everything noticed before

I’ll forget one or two things

Most likely a phone charger

Or one of my pencils

But with such a heavy bag

It’s not much of a difference

Shifting hand in pocket

Fumbling through keys

I search for something

But find my car key

Another way to escape

A poem is good for understanding one’s own thoughts. A poem is mostly structured around breaking down a long stream of narrative and creating an experience from it. It plays with timing and rhythm and that becomes the tone itself. This can be considered similar to how their thoughts can occur. When one is thinking, sometimes there are several thoughts that will interact with each other in a sporadic matter leading to a sound conclusion or understanding; much like how a poems lines all interact with each other to identifying a feeling using a particular context or story within the poem. Even the way that poems are read from time to time resemble the way the mind can think of simultaneous things all at once. Perhaps a poem is not essential to surviving in that way but I think the way it is able to connect with you as the reader without it necessarily being about something you have personally experienced acts as an internal dialogue. In that way poetry becomes a way to practice processing thoughts and can allow the reader to cope with whatever problem they see projected on the poem.

Stubborn

I am building a golden birdhouse

With white trimmings and a lawn

Built short, filled with straw, and

the loveliest copper tin roof

At the store I buy

Red Paint for decoration

Long wood for a base

some wool for a soft inside

hammer in hand, nails sharp and long,

I have made over a hundred houses

on cool grass or stacked up high

All the same, All the same

This new house looks promising

though It’s red like all the others

And the trimmings will come out perfect

though I have no white paint for them

Still I’ve made this many right?

Only a matter of time I think

Before I build a golden birdhouse

Ah It’s gotten so late now

Too long

Too red

Too wrong

And the worst of it?

No straw at all.

I’ll make a new one tomorrow

Sure it’ll be golden tomorrow

Gotta run by the store tomorrow

I need red paint for tomorrow

1-18-17

My writing process involves, like my art, a level of abstraction. I find the things I tend to write about creatively, resemble a detached thought or a hidden thought I’ve had before. The aim of the thought itself in the work is not direct to my experience and instead is manifested in an alternate scenario I write in. This way the work can become anyone’s experience. For instance I wanted to write about the intense fear that I have of changing for the worse and becoming someone who is cruel so I wrote a scifi breakup story from the perspective of person x who waits for 3 years to see person y while person y has waited 10 years due to different time interferences in their stationed work places in the universe but person x is the one that loses interest and is guilt ridden by it. It’s not really about the break up and it’s not really about falling out of love but I bridge it to what I want to talk about without making it about myself. I also find that I am drawn to simpler words in my writing. I feel as though they have more impact that way because I feel that a word no matter how loyal in definition to the feeling, cannot equate it. Furthermore I feel as though complicated words alienate audiences who were not fortunate to have the same education as me. Ultimately I believe if a message cannot be understood because it is far too complex in dialogue then it has failed it purpose and becomes a form of ego.

Here is a dream I will not remember

(I will try very hard to once I wake up)

In a familiar room I have never been in

I do not pay attention to it

I do not pay attention to the man smoking

Or the way he clasps his hands

Looking off somewhere that is not here

And you are staring at me

(And you are staring at me)

(And you are staring at me)

(Spoiler: I never lock eyes with you)

I fancy the painting behind you instead

(And in the corner of my eye-)

I can’t quite make it out

I will spend the rest of the dream trying to and failing

I can tell you hate me even more now

But I stare at the painting

This has nothing to do with you

Or it shouldn’t at least

Quit making such a sad face

It’s about the painting

She’s looking straight at me for crying out loud

(is she frowning? Or maybe-)

(I do not remember)

(I do not remember)

(I do not remember)