In the cooling of blood,
The restoration of satiation.
Something waits by the garden.
In the cooling of blood,
The restoration of satiation.
Something waits by the garden.
At my window,
A gun.
In my mind,
extraordinary sexual and living acts
Demonstrated in dark colors.
Then a great red bang.
********
The scales of the grain feed
Sway with an unconscionable math.
After the man’s house grows rats
to provide epidemics,
One will advise you at home while you die –
Grateful to be out of the hail of the heat.
In the heat of the heat,
ask me for the sun.
The X on my chest
Marks the spot.
May my tongue be holy,
And my will be broken.
Fields shy away from me.
The city has offers me up,
Unwanted.
In my other language my dream
Is disturbing
the barbed wire fence beyond,
So many cutters cutting cutely.
My soul struggles
In scorching liquid glass.
His thumb print is the moon.
In His blessings,
designs of snow,
promises rare and sweet.
I’m free of rain.
I show my picture to the blank mirror.
I was not busy in my shiny days
and now I see
clouds of apologies ahead,
burning bronze.
My shape shifting selfishness
Folded into a skin box,
Origami.
My life was born for a while,
between sameness and joy.
Ten times I memorize myself,
candy candle
I have to light,
To guide kaleidoscope perception
Back home to me.
Interdependence is difficult and soft,
ad infinitum.
The next day I stay
Stay awake.
In another land a woman
Locks a book in her heart chest.
I recreate blue with my face,
Talented flesh,
And the thermometer crusts with ice
As the heat peels away from my skin.
Look,
I’ll tell you what to do.
Bury the sewing kit
And all the afghans.
Lay your knitting needles in a raft,
Set it ablaze in the neighborhood duck pond.
Let other women gawk with scorn.
These women are not your neighbors.
Stalagmite fangs,
Sweeping the breath away from you,
Leather handbags stuffed with original creature.
I will be wakeful, watchful,
Unable to create the heat I need
To close my eyes.
Will you rededicate your life to sleep?
Today is the first day of the goal I set yesterday – to write my poetry every day. I have not yet written anything new, although I am revising some poetry I have already written.
For some reason, I am afraid to dive in. My mind is sort of ducking in and out of my emotions like a rock skipping over water. If I dive too deeply, I may not come up.
On some level, I’m afraid of my mind. I don’t write confessional poetry, so it is not as though I’ll be diving into personal problems and emotions in a direct way if I begin writing a poem. But I get into this space, this cold silky space, when I write and sometimes I just slide deeper and deeper into solitude once I start. This can feel rejuvenating, but I am on the border mentally right now and if I slide too far below the water I don’t know what will be waiting for me there.
I have to push forward. I’ve set a goal, and that goal must be accomplished. I can’t just give up, especially on the first day. It might be cold, but I need to sink down and scrape the images from the coral crusted bed of my head.
I have perhaps the strangest Inspirations sometimes for writing. Well, my inspiration can come from anywhere and sometimes appears so randomly that I cannot pinpoint a source. But I mean the inspiration to keep writing on days that I don’t feel well or days that I am extremely busy. Sure, part of it is my innate drive and love of the written word, but on the days when I really don’t feel well mentally or physically or when I have a lot of housework, there’s something else that helps keep me going. I absolutely love collecting gorgeous journals. Buying a new Journal makes my soul sing. However I can’t keep buying journals if I’m not using up the ones that I have. Although I like to collect journals, I don’t like to preserve them as though they’re going to sit in a museum. Seeing a blank journal on my desk compels me to use it. The only thing better than a pristine new Journal is a journal that has been well-loved and used to the maximum. There’s nothing like a perfect, artistic pair of covers with poetry or diary entries or Bible journaling and prayer filling the inside. I have several journals waiting to be used, and I have more I want to get. So I’m going to write and write and write. However, I do all that writing when I am feeling creative. Then I write bunches. Sometimes I hit dry spells and I stop.
I’m not necessarily one of those people who subscribes to the theory that it doesn’t matter if you put out absolute crap as long as you’re getting something down on the paper. I’ve really had mixed results with that. For the most part, at least with my poetry, if I sit myself down to write when I really really don’t have anything to say, nothing good comes out of it. If I’m feeling utterly uncreative and mentally stymied, the writing I produce is absolutely hopeless. Like everyone else, or at least like most people who write, many of my rough drafts are not very good. They need a lot of work. But most of them, if I edit ruthlessly and revise, have some potential. They may or may not realize that potential, but they give me something to work with. The stuff I write when I really do not have any creativity in me is almost always unusable. I suppose it’s worth trying just to maintain creativity as a daily habit, and of course if I do manage to pull something out of my mind that has some potential usability, I’ll be glad that I sat down to write. But most of the time it is just pointless.
Journals don’t necessarily help me push forward in times where my creative well has run dry. But sometimes I am very creative on days when I am mentally or physically sick, or when the housework or errands are calling my name, and on those days having a journal that I long to fill really inspires me to sit down and take the time to get my thoughts put on paper. Annoying but true, some of my most uncreative days where I have completely run out of things to say and I feel as used up as a reservoir in a desert in August, are the days where I have almost no housework and no errands, and where I feel mentally and physically fine. Sometimes I just need to recalibrate and recharge, and on those days not much writing gets done. I wish I could somehow schedule these creative dry spells for the days where I am too busy or too sick to write anyway! Wouldn’t that be nice!
Because of this inconsistent output and waste of some valuable hours, I find myself weighing the possibility of writing every day to keep my mind sharp. It’s not that I don’t write a lot, because I do. Right now I have tons of poems just waiting to be typed up. It’s not that I’m not creative frequently. Even on the days I don’t write I’m usually messing around with photography or painting or collage. And it’s not that I don’t spend enough time with language, because on the days I don’t write I am always reading to engage my mind and expand my imagination. I love reading. It’s an absolute guarantee that if I have not been writing I have been reading. Not a single day goes by that I don’t do one or both. I just wonder if I could be doing more.
It might be good to develop some discipline.
Angelica is getting older and my life is only going to get busier. We are now homeschooling everyday. On top of that she has speech therapy twice a week. She may also be joining the Children’s Choir soon, although I am not decided yet. And as she gets older even more extracurriculars will come up. Having a commitment to write no matter what might encourage me to do more of what I love.
As much as I have never seen the need for making daily writing part of my routine, so many writers recommend it. I do wonder if there is something to it. It may be that my best writing will still come on the days where I feel inspired, but the writing I do on the days when I feel uninspired may improve my writing enough that the writing I do on the days when I am inspired will be that much better.
I have always put the inspiration first and the writing comes second. But it might be worth it, as an experiment, to try writing first and see if that makes the inspiration come more frequently. I have been thinking about experimenting with structure lately, or maybe with subject matter as well, but first I think I will experiment with my schedule. I’m going to set up a goal, and write it down in my daily productivity planner, to write at least one poem every single day. I’m going to do this for a month and see what the results are. If I got something out of it I’ll continue to do it for the rest of my life. If I don’t, well then I’ve got 30 poems and maybe I can make use of one of them. This goal is really going to be a challenge this month because on Thursday we are leaving for a two-week road trip. I’m going to be traveling from state-to-state every day for two weeks. It’s really going to take commitment to make sure that I’m being productive in the middle of a vacation. No matter how much driving we’re doing or how much there is to see I need to write a poem. Let’s see how this goes.
This morning we ran over to Home Depot. Craig was helping me choose wood for my newest creative adventure – watercolor on wood. When we got home I did a test run. The way the colors spread through the grain is lovely, and the colors stay so vibrant.
After we ate lunch, it was time for school. We did a lesson in reading. It was her first lesson in reading for the curriculum, so there were no actual words in her little reader for the day. It was just sort of an introduction to books, although coming from this house she doesn’t really need that! We fell on a review day for math today, so we will be doing some review, but went on ahead and did the next lesson.
Craig has been working all afternoon and he won’t be home until bedtime. So I am flying solo for the pm hours. And I’ve been trying hard to get things done! After Angelica’s school day was over, I started cleaning the house. I reorganized the homeschool supplies, cleared off the dining room table (which had become a storage space for school supplies and little toys that had been brought downstairs by little hands), reorganized the kitchen to the best of my ability (and I did a lot of organizing…took about two hours), did dishes, took out trash, took out recycling, cleaned out the refrigerator, and began organizing Angelica’s clothes for the trip. In between, I painted with Angelica, took her to the park for over an hour, helped her mail something to her grandparents, made her dinner, and after all that was through I took a hot shower. Now I have some laundry to do, some sweeping, and some mopping. I’d also like to put away my second, though small, round of clean dishes. I am really going to push myself.
Exhaustion is setting in though. I hate this overused analogy, but I only get so many spoons per day. I normally breakup my housework and activity into smaller, shorter chunks. I am just now sitting down after my shower. It is almost seven and I’ve been going at it since before noon. I guess that isn’t a lot, but it feels like it. The shower felt good, but even that took a spoon.
Truly, I love my job. I love being a housewife, and I love being a mom. And I get tremendous satisfaction from a good day of work. I just run out of energy and stability….quickly a lot of the time. But I’m so glad I’ve done what I’ve done. The kitchen took the longest time. It was in need of a massive organize. We just have a lot of stuff. And I have more to do that I am really going to try to get done before bed.
Tomorrow is my sixth wedding anniversary. We celebrated last week by going to a little french restaurant, and hanging out just the two of us. Tomorrow I’ll be with Craig for our anniversary (and the holiday) in the morning, but he will be working all afternoon and evening. It will be just me and Angelica. I’m not sure what we are going to do – probably have a quiet day.
Okay, well that was my day so far. Now it is time to review Angelica’s speech therapy lesson with her, sweep up, mop, run laundry, and put away dishes!
