I can tell this is going to be another one of those nearly sleepless nights.
I could blame the graphic novel I just read (American Vampire) for filling my head with inspiring ideas, or the pile of grading I have to cram in before my office hours tomorrow, or the unusual situation I'm dealing with involving a very intense and slightly delusional student (I've never had a security escort before), but I have found that some nights are just like this and placing the blame on something merely only gives me a way to pass the time until I can force myself to drop into slumber.
I have also found that writing is often the cure or maybe the reason. I know I've discussed needing to write before, but the more I put it off, the more my day job (which I love, don't get me wrong) forces me to put another idea on the back burner, the greater the urge to sit down and type or scribble.
Typing usually wins out lately, and with my new laptop, it isn't hard to see why. My fingers can actually keep up with my ideas, and they're legible afterwards, even if littered with typos.
I could stop here and ponder the idea of the life of my words. . . how they feel safer sleeping in cyber space, hidden in the minute confines of my computer's chips and wires, yet how this also doesn't make them real at all but in fact makes them less so: untouchable. Then ponder how things that escape the physical realm always seem to last a little longer. But this seems like an unnecessary diversion.
The reason I'm here tonight, flinging my words into space, is because I owe myself, you my readers real and imaginary, and my blog poems. I had written them here on my laptop, but during the surge of Finals Week preparations I have scarcely been able to claim free time, my laptop (where the poems are saved), and reliable access to the internet all at the same time for quite awhile.
So, as I was lying there in bed exhausted yet unable to shut down, I couldn't help but feel that I was wasting valuable time to even up on my debt of poems.
So, humble reader who ever you are, here are my final poems from my National Poetry Month Challenge 2012. Half were actually finished in the month of April. Cheers.
NPM 24:
Friendship
They say friendship is caring
but it is also not caring
not caring
about the loss of time
or that dinner you burnt
a messy apartment
or mismatched socks
not caring
about a bad joke
or their taste in wine
or what others think
when you laugh loudly for no reason
over stay your welcome
or cry heavily in the elevator
not caring
what else is on your schedule
if they need you
because friendship
is more important
than all that
NPM 25:
Embrace
I want to give you a hug
because there a few comforts in life
greater than felling
the contact of others
NPM26:
Inspiration
A spur of the moment idea
seems so simple
so doable
for months we plan to try
that new restaurant
shop the new store
go through our filing
and then suddenly
it’s as simple as crossing the street
getting home late
or opening a drawer
NPM27:
Denial
Insanity is not much explored
Not embraced
or thought about
Insanity lingers in the corners
of everyone's minds
making them feel safe
like they can ignore it
like it isn't there in that man's eyes
or waiting
to bite them in their sleep
NPM28:
This Man I Knew
"I only have 24 hours in my day," the man said.
"That's all. Only 24."
How was he supposed to find the time
he wanted to know
How was he supposed to contend with all the demands
Whose demands?
"It's only me," he said. "I'm home all day. With nothing to do but eat."
Yet he still couldn't find the time
or escape the pressure of his own mind.
NPM29:
A Keyboard at Night
There was a time I'd have to light a candle
switch on a lamp
or stumble foolishly in the dark
trusting my fingers to remember
But now the letters great me happily
the numbers shine so bright
each displaying their boundary
a little square
with a friend or two inside
They float there waiting
until I push them down
block them out
just so they can spring up
still warm from my touch
all lit up
it's a game that could last all night
NPM30:
The Whores of April
They're fast and cheap
Don't get the care that they deserve
They watch the others get loved
adjusted, tended to
thought about with care
They hear of those who are famous
or bound
and wonder what their place is
They're not the stars of their own stage
Easily criticized
and forgotten
And yet they have potential
the occasional ability to surprise
or delight
and in that moment that they're used
brief as it may be
they shine
they shine so bright, so fast
my little poems of April
I could blame the graphic novel I just read (American Vampire) for filling my head with inspiring ideas, or the pile of grading I have to cram in before my office hours tomorrow, or the unusual situation I'm dealing with involving a very intense and slightly delusional student (I've never had a security escort before), but I have found that some nights are just like this and placing the blame on something merely only gives me a way to pass the time until I can force myself to drop into slumber.
I have also found that writing is often the cure or maybe the reason. I know I've discussed needing to write before, but the more I put it off, the more my day job (which I love, don't get me wrong) forces me to put another idea on the back burner, the greater the urge to sit down and type or scribble.
Typing usually wins out lately, and with my new laptop, it isn't hard to see why. My fingers can actually keep up with my ideas, and they're legible afterwards, even if littered with typos.
I could stop here and ponder the idea of the life of my words. . . how they feel safer sleeping in cyber space, hidden in the minute confines of my computer's chips and wires, yet how this also doesn't make them real at all but in fact makes them less so: untouchable. Then ponder how things that escape the physical realm always seem to last a little longer. But this seems like an unnecessary diversion.
The reason I'm here tonight, flinging my words into space, is because I owe myself, you my readers real and imaginary, and my blog poems. I had written them here on my laptop, but during the surge of Finals Week preparations I have scarcely been able to claim free time, my laptop (where the poems are saved), and reliable access to the internet all at the same time for quite awhile.
So, as I was lying there in bed exhausted yet unable to shut down, I couldn't help but feel that I was wasting valuable time to even up on my debt of poems.
So, humble reader who ever you are, here are my final poems from my National Poetry Month Challenge 2012. Half were actually finished in the month of April. Cheers.
NPM 24:
Friendship
They say friendship is caring
but it is also not caring
not caring
about the loss of time
or that dinner you burnt
a messy apartment
or mismatched socks
not caring
about a bad joke
or their taste in wine
or what others think
when you laugh loudly for no reason
over stay your welcome
or cry heavily in the elevator
not caring
what else is on your schedule
if they need you
because friendship
is more important
than all that
NPM 25:
Embrace
I want to give you a hug
because there a few comforts in life
greater than felling
the contact of others
NPM26:
Inspiration
A spur of the moment idea
seems so simple
so doable
for months we plan to try
that new restaurant
shop the new store
go through our filing
and then suddenly
it’s as simple as crossing the street
getting home late
or opening a drawer
NPM27:
Denial
Insanity is not much explored
Not embraced
or thought about
Insanity lingers in the corners
of everyone's minds
making them feel safe
like they can ignore it
like it isn't there in that man's eyes
or waiting
to bite them in their sleep
NPM28:
This Man I Knew
"I only have 24 hours in my day," the man said.
"That's all. Only 24."
How was he supposed to find the time
he wanted to know
How was he supposed to contend with all the demands
Whose demands?
"It's only me," he said. "I'm home all day. With nothing to do but eat."
Yet he still couldn't find the time
or escape the pressure of his own mind.
NPM29:
A Keyboard at Night
There was a time I'd have to light a candle
switch on a lamp
or stumble foolishly in the dark
trusting my fingers to remember
But now the letters great me happily
the numbers shine so bright
each displaying their boundary
a little square
with a friend or two inside
They float there waiting
until I push them down
block them out
just so they can spring up
still warm from my touch
all lit up
it's a game that could last all night
NPM30:
The Whores of April
They're fast and cheap
Don't get the care that they deserve
They watch the others get loved
adjusted, tended to
thought about with care
They hear of those who are famous
or bound
and wonder what their place is
They're not the stars of their own stage
Easily criticized
and forgotten
And yet they have potential
the occasional ability to surprise
or delight
and in that moment that they're used
brief as it may be
they shine
they shine so bright, so fast
my little poems of April
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