I’ve been trying to post a new poem every day. These are all poems I’ve written over the past year. If I don’t write some new ones, it’ll be a short run of posts. Before posting, I re-read it, sometimes make edits, sometimes think if it’s what I want to put out there. Yesterday I posted the one about an argument B and I had “A Place to Dream”. Of the poems I have, it’s one of the ones I like least – it doesn’t quite feel like my style, or maybe it just feels too personal – something about it feels off, but for months I haven’t been able to fix it. It was intended to be the title poem of a collection I’m working on – it was supposed to talk about what I thought was one of my greatest failings in our relationship – which was an unintentional smothering, my struggle with helping create space for a place to dream. Competing desires – giving space and basking in her presence. Also, I think it’s the only poem I’ve posted with an explanation, a sort of author’s note. I’m not sure how I feel about that either. To me, context matters – but do other people need to know where it came from, if it’s real or made up? Shouldn’t the writing stand on its own?
Today, I’ll post a poem called “This is Home.” It’s the first poem I wrote and gave to B – I only gave her one or two – wish I had given her more. I don’t exactly remember when I gave it to her – I think it was shortly after she went to California on her own…. For those of you not following along at home, you’ll have to click through this site that has turned in to a brief history of how it all went wrong (write about what you know – they said). Maybe that becomes the title of the memoir…. A Brief History of How It All Went Wrong – it’s gonna need a lot more humor in it if it’s gonna pull off a title like that.
I’m realizing I’ve discovered an odd freedom of thought and expression being away from home. I have none of those old comforts to fall back on. I don’t feel the proximity to people that I did, and the solitude spurs me to think and write. Did I need to be alone to get here? The BIG question is… is this the person I want to be? Is this the death and rebirth that I want? That I need? Or am I just working through some stuff, and when it’s done, will the writing stop? Sometimes when I think about the life I was envisioning with B, it involved both of us finding ways to pursue some artistic expressions – I sometimes had visions of us living in a countryside farmhouse, maybe painting, maybe writing, knowing the owners, Bob and Susan, of the store in town where we bought our milk. Driving past golden fields of wheat – maybe owning an old pick-up truck. A dog, maybe two. The sun is always shining in these visions. Walking around Memphis, I just as easily have that vision in a more urban setting. Going to galleries, sitting at sidewalk cafés, rooftop gatherings of friends, and quiet Sundays reading. We used to talk about our country house and our city house – I think we both wanted both of those lives…. That’s pretty impressive when you can imagine multiple lives with someone else. When everything seems possible and equally appealing – that’s how you know it’s about the person you’re with.
I want to write new poems – maybe those descriptions above are where I can start. I’m struggling with content. Perhaps I need to be out in the world more, I need to discover new inspirations. There’s a secondary problem that I’m struggling with. When I sit to write a poem, I realize I don’t know how. I feel like I need to read some good poetry to get myself started. If you’re reading this (all two or three of you) send a comment, recommend a book (topics I like are love and longing and nature and simple pleasures). Today, I’ll swing by the coffee shop to try again….
For now, this post and another poem from the stack. Oh, and I definitely need to go through these pages and jazz them up a bit with images and videos and more links – sorry about that. Text heavy.