Well, crap.
You know how life gets busy and you get behind on projects??? Well, this week has been a lot like that. See, last week I was up early and able to get to poetry early in the day and it was awesome. This week??? THis week I am up early getting to to work and all, and.....well, there are multiple reasons why I am not a poet by trade, and that's fine, but DANG, life gets in the way of my pet projects.....
So anyway, here I am, trying to get through some poetry and stuff. This is part of why this month is a challenge. Writing poetry - even bad poetry - isn't simple. Writing something new every day is difficult. that's why it's a challenge. To boot, we're in the middle of changing weeks/themes. SO ok....here we go!!!
Day 7: Self-care. Here's the last day of this theme for this week. It's been an interesting theme, and to be honest, yielded much more than I anticipated. I consider it time well spent. It's one of the thing I have discovered with this project over the years: the best things about it...are completely unexpected. it's part of why I keep at it.
Fulcrum
the science of art
seems wrong, at first,
a logical feeling,
a senseless order,
but that is what it takes -
to strike the balance
between what you feel
and how to understand it.
balance is the key -
when to self care,
when to not,
why to do it,
why to stop.
Understanding the balance is an art,
applying that understanding - a science.
it's is all a delicate balance.
sometimes working,
sometimes not,
and knowing the difference.
Day 8: Today, we begin the next week, something that is near and dear to me: Neighborhood. It's near and dear because this past year has taught me a lot about what it means to be a neighbor, and how people actually behave. It's been a tough one, no doubt, but it's been valuable. So this next week's theme is about how words - poetry - can heal our neighborhoods. It's about an approach that maybe we've lost in recent years, and maybe - just maybe - we can regain. This one is about my neighbor, whom I have dubbed, "Boomer" because his music is really loud in his car. When he pulls up, the house shakes. Yeah, it's loud.
Boomer
I do not know his name,
he plays his music too loud
and it's music i do not understand,
and my first instinct is revulsion.
i hate it,
i want it quiet,
i want peace and serenity -
but that is not what he knows.
he knows gritty,
loud and real,
a vicious place,
harsh reality,
composed of heavy sound
and a backbeat like
the rhythm of a freight train
going over a bridge -
an echo of a sound,
a style of being, a different rhythm
than i am used to.
it's what he knows,
and that brings a new piece to my neighborhood -
a diverse place
where differences maybe don't matter as much
as i once thought they did.
Day 9: You know how you give neighbors names? Things that are basic descriptors, really, nothing serious. One of me neighbors was know as "Red Truck" for a long time - because yes, he drove a red truck (Yes, I am as inventive as the British in colonial America). I found out later his name was Steve. Unfortunately, Steve passed away suddenly about a month ago. And that spurred this piece.
Loss
you don't know me,
but i see and watch,
and i like knowing the routine
that i can count on,
seeing the truck in its spot,
leaking oil in the same place.
and now it's gone.
the house, always stoic and silent,
had life - a sentinel looking over the street -
has gone mute and still.
a soccer ball lies in the yard,
a remnant of children playing in a yard
they only recently felt comfortable in
because the man who lived there is gone.
I did not know him well,
yet i am saddened,
because a man is gone -
a man i barely knew,
but for the love he showed his dogs.
Well, it's difficult to write about death, and this isn't the only one I have experienced on this street, or in this neighborhood. There are others and that hurts. Life is precious, and every loss, no matter how insignificant in our own personal lives, is one loss too many. When one of us grieves, we all should grieve. More importantly, when one of us suffers injustice, we all should be upset. How does poetry - how do words - begin to heal a neighborhood? We start by talking about the things we see - the good and the bad, and we give voice to it, in the hope that those without a voice can still be heard.
Thanks for reading,
Me.
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