I've wanted to be a writer for a long time, but I always feel like I need to go out and make money or hustle for money. Lately I've fallen into some financial security which allows me to just write all day every day. I've been trying to say yes to this lifestyle. One way I do this is by turning off the news and taking time to read poetry instead.
Turning off the News to Read Poetry
Out there, cities full of birds go quiet during a bombing.
But inside the poets stand, between two stacks of books.
Everyone I know warns against Facists of the future
But the poets turn towards history of the human heart
Campaigning in the streets. Everyone I know is worried they will lose
Their freedom. The poets want time enough to write about all the hands
They have held. The windows they have looked through
into the faces they have loved. Outside the sun burns.
Inside every brain is a room full of stars
That may burn out before we have time to see them.
This is the reason we keep on scribbling even amidst the terror.
Like the photographer this morning who posted a single video,
We are trying to convey what it means to live
in this moment, which is every moment,
The sound of the cicadas chirping
next to a puddle of black water. Our lives like ponds
under a sky that has never once stopped spilling its narrative.
I like the pov here, and there are several great lines: 'want time enough to write about all the hands / they have held. . .every brain is a room full of stars. . .cicadas chirping / next to a puddle of black water' If you revise, I wonder about toning down a bit of the us / them implications in it. Lots of potential, and I'm jealous of having time to write all day :)
I have a rule at work to never make friends with anyone in management. Treat with respect, but don't think of them as friends. There are plenty of other drivers I can be work-friends with. Four years ago, I broke my own rule. Here is a sonnet I wrote earlier this year about the fallout of saying 'yes' to that friendship. I know it still suffers from i-know-what-im-talking-about-but-my-reader-does-not-ism, and I'm dithering about whether to keep working with it or not.
Dude, TR Poulson, the language here is beautiful. In some ways I'm not even sure I need to know what the context of this is. If you want the context to be clear though, I once saw a really cool poem with a title that was 3 lines long and laid out the whole scenario that started the poem in plain language, but then the poem itself was very lyrical. It didn't need to explain anything because the title had done it already. That might work for this poem. I think what's also at the heart of this is that the dispatcher has a vendeta against the driver. (I think I'm reading that correctly). Maybe that's all the reader needs to know to access this poem.
Excellent thoughts, Tresha. You're reading is really close. The dispatch guy is making business decisions, and the speaker knows this, but because they're friends her emotional reaction is to take those decisions personally. Your comment gave me some ideas for revision--thank you! Perhaps let the poem lead me away from what's 'true.'
Behind in the challenge but sharing anyway! Unedited, stream of consciousness, full of cliches and englishy problems but learning to let go of the preciousness of writing and just write…
Yes.
I said, yes.
Very convincingly actually,
even as my mind said, no!
No! No! No!
My heart could not decide to hurt you with the truth so I lied.
I’m not proud of it,
I try to be a better person than that, and I truly loathe liars.
But I need to loathe people pleasers more, because a yes to you was a no to myself.
I said yes to your offer of unconditional love, being completely cherished, appreciated, worshiped even.
Yes.
I said yes, to a lifetime of someone having my back, always in my corner, someone who would fight for me every day.
I said yes to affection and care and protection and unconditional love.
And I know you would have kept every single promise.
But I also said yes to putting someone else’s needs first 100% of the time.
I said yes to abandoning my feelings and needs and desires.
I said yes to carrying you, while trying to stay upright myself.
I said yes to leaving my dreams as dreams,
and making yours reality.
I said yes to full speed ahead ehen what I really wanted was to hit the brakes, and turn around.
I said yes, to something that was not right for me because I really wanted it to be.
I’m still saying yes,
but now I am saying yes to me.
Yes to adventures and spontaneity. Yes to desire.
Yes to jazz on Sunday mornings and an afternoon kayak paddle.
Yes to deep discussions of politics, and education and song lyrics.
Yes to trying new foods and learning about culture and history.
Yes to long bike rides and beach walks and deep kisses.
Yes to butterflies and flowers and your hands knotted up in my hair.
Yes to the theater and museums.
I say yes, to eyes that see me, all of me, every ugly and beautiful thing, and they don’t look away.
I've wanted to be a writer for a long time, but I always feel like I need to go out and make money or hustle for money. Lately I've fallen into some financial security which allows me to just write all day every day. I've been trying to say yes to this lifestyle. One way I do this is by turning off the news and taking time to read poetry instead.
Turning off the News to Read Poetry
Out there, cities full of birds go quiet during a bombing.
But inside the poets stand, between two stacks of books.
Everyone I know warns against Facists of the future
But the poets turn towards history of the human heart
Campaigning in the streets. Everyone I know is worried they will lose
Their freedom. The poets want time enough to write about all the hands
They have held. The windows they have looked through
into the faces they have loved. Outside the sun burns.
Inside every brain is a room full of stars
That may burn out before we have time to see them.
This is the reason we keep on scribbling even amidst the terror.
Like the photographer this morning who posted a single video,
We are trying to convey what it means to live
in this moment, which is every moment,
The sound of the cicadas chirping
next to a puddle of black water. Our lives like ponds
under a sky that has never once stopped spilling its narrative.
Yet here we are, making our recordings, refusing
To be still.
Turning off the news to tell the news…clever and interesting pov!
I like the pov here, and there are several great lines: 'want time enough to write about all the hands / they have held. . .every brain is a room full of stars. . .cicadas chirping / next to a puddle of black water' If you revise, I wonder about toning down a bit of the us / them implications in it. Lots of potential, and I'm jealous of having time to write all day :)
I have a rule at work to never make friends with anyone in management. Treat with respect, but don't think of them as friends. There are plenty of other drivers I can be work-friends with. Four years ago, I broke my own rule. Here is a sonnet I wrote earlier this year about the fallout of saying 'yes' to that friendship. I know it still suffers from i-know-what-im-talking-about-but-my-reader-does-not-ism, and I'm dithering about whether to keep working with it or not.
Sacrifice
—from a UPS driver to her dispatch guy
after breaking her own rule to never
make friends with anyone in management
Bear Gulch bends, an asphalt snake through mist
to gated blends of green. I find her ends
and she knows me. Redwood branches twist
her fog, wet as blood to my hands. She mends
me, holds my empty. I animal my trust
alone among her world, her words, her wild
branches and needles blurred in sunset rust.
She names me beautiful, untouched, beguiled.
You dangle Bear Gulch close as breath, but never
make her mine. I falter faith. Your numbers
burn me, bare and black with want. You give her
to drivers who don’t love her. Encumber
me with sleepy streets—your godship uproots
as friendship, bruised as fallen fruit.
The imagery is so rich in this!
Dude, TR Poulson, the language here is beautiful. In some ways I'm not even sure I need to know what the context of this is. If you want the context to be clear though, I once saw a really cool poem with a title that was 3 lines long and laid out the whole scenario that started the poem in plain language, but then the poem itself was very lyrical. It didn't need to explain anything because the title had done it already. That might work for this poem. I think what's also at the heart of this is that the dispatcher has a vendeta against the driver. (I think I'm reading that correctly). Maybe that's all the reader needs to know to access this poem.
Excellent thoughts, Tresha. You're reading is really close. The dispatch guy is making business decisions, and the speaker knows this, but because they're friends her emotional reaction is to take those decisions personally. Your comment gave me some ideas for revision--thank you! Perhaps let the poem lead me away from what's 'true.'
Behind in the challenge but sharing anyway! Unedited, stream of consciousness, full of cliches and englishy problems but learning to let go of the preciousness of writing and just write…
Yes.
I said, yes.
Very convincingly actually,
even as my mind said, no!
No! No! No!
My heart could not decide to hurt you with the truth so I lied.
I’m not proud of it,
I try to be a better person than that, and I truly loathe liars.
But I need to loathe people pleasers more, because a yes to you was a no to myself.
I said yes to your offer of unconditional love, being completely cherished, appreciated, worshiped even.
Yes.
I said yes, to a lifetime of someone having my back, always in my corner, someone who would fight for me every day.
I said yes to affection and care and protection and unconditional love.
And I know you would have kept every single promise.
But I also said yes to putting someone else’s needs first 100% of the time.
I said yes to abandoning my feelings and needs and desires.
I said yes to carrying you, while trying to stay upright myself.
I said yes to leaving my dreams as dreams,
and making yours reality.
I said yes to full speed ahead ehen what I really wanted was to hit the brakes, and turn around.
I said yes, to something that was not right for me because I really wanted it to be.
I’m still saying yes,
but now I am saying yes to me.
Yes to adventures and spontaneity. Yes to desire.
Yes to jazz on Sunday mornings and an afternoon kayak paddle.
Yes to deep discussions of politics, and education and song lyrics.
Yes to trying new foods and learning about culture and history.
Yes to long bike rides and beach walks and deep kisses.
Yes to butterflies and flowers and your hands knotted up in my hair.
Yes to the theater and museums.
I say yes, to eyes that see me, all of me, every ugly and beautiful thing, and they don’t look away.
There is no ahead or behind. You're perfect at any time:) Glad you're here!