More Less

I need to write more poems again.
I miss the way my brain worked then.
I also need to play more songs,
design more websites, right more wrongs,
find more clients, make more cash,
do more with my craft-stuff stash,
speak more Spanish, read more books,
spend time proving I can cook,
make more friends, call friends more,
do more with my Etsy store,
give my toddler more of me,
be the best that I can be,
yes, the very, very best–
okay, so what should I do less?

How to Write a Poem

It Would Have Been Easy

If I could have only seen
exactly what this year would bring
this would have been easy.
I could have locked myself behind a door
and written every poem beforehand.
It would have been easy.

But this hasn't been easy.
Have you seen how fast time passes?
And so now we have these glasses
but we still don't see twenty-twenty.
No, this hasn't been easy,
A year ago today
I sat just twenty paces away.
So I might not have gone far, but I have plenty.

If I could have known
what I would feel inside each poem
it would have been easy.
It would have felt more like a ride
and less like a black diamond
and it would have been easy.

If I had written every poem this past year
to publish them in the coming one,
I could have spaced them all out perfectly
but they never would have gotten done.
It would be just another idea I had
that never went either well or bad,
but only stale like a passing fad.
But it would have been easy.

And what if I had said "Enough!
Does anyone even read this stuff?"
It would have been easy.
But I had things to write about
just to breathe and get them out
because it wasn't easy.

No, this hasn't been easy.
Have you seen how fast time passes?
And so now we have these glasses
but we still don't see twenty-twenty.
No, this hasn't been easy,
A year ago today
I sat just twenty paces away.
So I might not have gone far, but I've done plenty.

Far

Writing poems in the car
makes each line go far.

It's Been Half a Year

It's been half a year,
and I'm still writing here,
although not as often.
My schedule seems to soften.
Now two weeks without poems,
you're wondering if I'm home.
Yes, I've been here enough–
just doing other stuff.

Someone in the Neighborhood

Someone in the neighborhood is making lots of noise ripping something apart.
Someone in the neighborhood is driving the curves with a broken heart.
Someone in the neighborhood is being taken for walks by their pet.
Someone in the neighborhood hasn't enjoyed the warm weather yet.
Someone in the neighborhood is remembering better times.
Someone in the neighborhood is racking her brain for rhymes.

Nothing

Nothing that rhymes,
nothing profound,
nothing new
'neath the sun we spin 'round.
No word left unsaid,
no vice left untried,
no bottle that floats
'cross this prairie so wide.

How Would I Write

If I set you to random
and told you to play
you'd sing to me
for twenty-two days.
So many songs
that I just might
need to hear.
But how would I write?

Screen

Something spattered on my screen
makes it hard to think.
I use my sleeve to get it clean
with water from the sink.
And now I have page that's blank
to fill with all my thoughts.
It's just the sort of screen that could
give me writer's block.

Privacy

I've written poems you'll never see.
They're as not-for-you as a life at sea.
It's just a matter of privacy.

Lost Poems

There's lots of poems lost in the dark
because they failed to make a mark.
Flung from the bow inside my mind,
they wander, but they'll never find
a place to land in outer space
before they break, disintegrate
or burn up in the atmosphere
and fall to earth, far far from here
outside a ghostly desert town
because they were not written down.

Tomorrow's Poem

I'd rather write tomorrow's poem,
to make a guess at what's unknown,
to predict it like the weather
and to say "It will be better."
Even if that might be fun,
I live each day just as she comes.

[See this poem.]

To Write Yesterday's Poem

It's hard to look back into time,
search out the reason and the rhyme,
and all the sense that we can make.
We want to do another take.
And even now with all we know,
it's hard to write yesterday's poem.

Each Day a Poem

I want to write a poem each day.
I just need something good to say.
And if there's nothing to be said,
I'll write one anyway.

It's good for me to think and write
to keep perception in my sight.
And so I'll make each day a poem,
and dream of verse each night.

"Why start today?" you'd like to know.
Just because it's time to go.
Seize the chance; start when you can
to make each day a poem.