And it was nice, but it did mean that my blog was abandoned and sad, and is now in need of updating.
So here are a couple of the poems I wrote over the month. I don't really like them, and they're not really exactly perfectly finished (or imperfectly finished, actually) but they're kind of all there is at the moment.
Enjoy or not.
This one was written for a friend who believes that eating and sleeping are two of life's greatest pleasures. I don't like the last third of it, but I'm fairly sick of staring at it and trying to fix it.
ODE TO THE EARLY MORNING
“Sizzle” says the bacon
from its spot atop the stove
“Burble,” says the coffee pot
“Good morning,” says my nose.
There’s nothing wrong
with waking up
to greet the morning light
but it takes more than six AM
to make my morning bright.
So bake me bread
and make me beans
and fix it up just right
and maybe then I’ll smile as
I bid goodbye to night.
But otherwise you all may rise
as early as you like
just kindly do not wake me if
no breakfast is in sight.
So yes. That's that. This one probably speaks for itself. Sorry for the swearing.
DIVIDED
My body wonders what the fuck I’m doing.
I dragged it out here
to the middle of nowhere squared
so it wouldn’t wake up in your bed.
Instead it wakes up in a snowbank.
Frankly it thinks we made
the wrong decision.
Your bed, it says, was warm –
there is certainly something
in that.
And besides, in the end
all we’re doing is running away.
Sooner or later we must go back
mind body and stupid stubborn will
to face what we’re fleeing.
I suspect you would laugh
if you knew.
There is more in this folder than I thought. Interesting. Only two more, I think. This one doesn't have a title.
How did they vanish
those inches between our lips?
One second they were there
so solid you could slice them
with a knife
so immovable you might have sworn
they were miles.
but now
merely a moment later
here we are
nothing between us but tongue,
and I find myself unsure
as to how this happened.
Last one. Also kind of speaks for itself. A goodbye to a good friend who walked a long way with me.
TO A FELLOW TRAVELER
Together, with our restless feet,
we have trudged to the tops of mountains.
We have stumbled and sloshed
through snow and overflow
have fumbled
with broken laces
and frozen fingers.
Together we have traveled
past the point of exhaustion
(bloody bill after bloody hill)
only to settle down at last
the stars as our ceiling
to shiver into sleep.
And then – and always so soon after sleeping –
under the sun or moon or northern lights
the wind like a slap to our faces
you and I have woken and walked
and walked.
How many miles?
Together still we are turning now\
to trace our tracks back home.
So soon our restless feet
will walk us separate ways.
Remember, though
that the world is round.
Walk far enough away
and someday you may find yourself faced
with that place again.
Till then, my friend, walk well.
