Hello to you, my one reader. I have an announcement, a small one. I’ve decided when I’m going to stop writing ten poems in twenty minutes daily. I think I’ll make it to a hundred days in a row, just for the ring of the number. I think following that, I’ll just post the poems I’ve written that day. It could be one, it could be ten, but this way the pressure subsides, and allows for lack of time.
I Wrote 10 Poems in 20 Minutes (10:46)
You have to left me go
If I ask
You won’t ever hold me.
But maybe not,
Maybe I’m not an ethereal, graceful, floaty wisp of a thing
I’m possibly constant, true, solid and stuck.
I just never knew the right people.
I slept but it didn’t feel as any time had past
I imagined a wily grin on a face of an old teacher.
I ran from a sea monster on a boat.
And I opened my eyes again to find it noon.
My dreams were the only thing I did today.
She encouraged me toward anarchy
I realized later
Just to test out her theories.
Think of all you have to trust
When you’re driving down the road
All those strangers
And you have only just to hope
That they follow this set
I nicked my finger with a butcher’s knife while cutting onions
My eyes held water.
And I felt myself get nauseous from the blood
I don’t get sick from the sight of red
I never have.
I kept telling myself that
While I lost my peripheral vision
Hey, you, body, this isn’t anything to be sad about.
I met friends of a boy I knew
And I played dances with the fences in the eyes
And territory of the brown hair girl who clung to him.
But I disarmed her little, by doing what she didn’t expect
I saw the shock myself.
I ask her questions directly
Ignoring the boy, who I wanted to know.
So that I could go back to eating my food
Without a territory battle of words.
I’ll run in the flat fields
With my never ending flat feet
Through the rows of harvested corn
Never run out of sunshine or land
Because it all goes in a straight line
I’ll go in a line
To say hello earth, this is what I sound like
When I live for now.
I seem so small
Even my dog runs faster
And my pillows are wider
My table sturdier
I have no mountain in me.
Our escape stack in piles
Leaf upon leaf
Shelf upon shelf
Floor to ceiling
Page to page
They hold you in there
Say, come and stay
And forget how the rest of your brain works
While you read.
He never lived in my world
I thought he was there.
My sister and I spent the weekends and summers with our father.
Not my brother though, the half one.
I never thought how different my life could be
From a few days.
But those away from our mother
Held poverty, and cold, and pride and decorum
And a yelling man who didn’t know
What to do with two little girls.
Is this ok?
That new to use red brick square house
He implied, if we didn’t like it we could leave
As if we had a choice.
That was the first time I remember
I saw I had no power.