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December 7, 2016

My sobriety.
My test.
This tightening fist
In my chest.

I try to keep the outside
Out. But.

The computer, an invader.
Even morning coffee is not safe.

Try to feel the warmth
through the ceramic
and to feel the liquid
in your mouth.
Be in the moment.


Nothing works. Drugs,
Perhaps. But, who has

Time for the doctor
And her stethoscope lies?

Boxes of wine,
And over-wrought mothering.
Cannot stop the myriad
Pressures and their smothering

Tentacles. Downward dog.
Cat, cow. Salute the clouds.
Nothing is getting better, now.

This is Poem #214 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I wrote this poem almost three years ago, but I could have written it yesterday.

November 20, 2016

Morning fuel to get us through - 
A mug at home
Or from a barista.

A symbol all's well
With the world;
But it's not.

After the World Trade
Center fell, all I could
Think of was getting that cup -

Like some symbol of normalcy.
It wasn't normal anymore,
Emerging from Starbucks

As ashes floated into our
Hair. Creamer or lumps
Of sugar cannot take the bitterness

Out of this world.

This is Poem #203 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

July 25, 2016

They do not often use styrofoam 
Anymore, so they put
A cardboard ring around
To save your fingers from 
The scalding. 

       Do you take it black?
       A little sugar? One
       Lump or two?

Stopping at Starbucks
Equals normalcy -
Getting it back -
After planes hit
Towers or boys
Shoot up elementary 
Schools. The day you

Ask the barista, "Please, please,
please, let me get
What I want
This time. "


This is Poem #129 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

July 24, 2016

The couple breaking up
In the coffee shop -
For all to witness -
No longer care

Just what the other customers
Overhear. Passion
Rises to the top of the expresso,

Which boils and blows its bubble-top.
She throws her coffee in his face
To be reported later on Channel 9. 

In the privacy of their 
Hotel room - they fuck out the anger,
And - the next morning, 

Lick their wounds,  pretending
The caffeinated curtain never rose. 


This is Poem #128 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

June 19, 2016 (Father’s Day)

Questions are not always

Answered, nor solutions

Solved. Which side

 

Are you on? 

Dispensing the known

To those who do not

Know what is needed;

 

Survival. It is not

All we want but

Necessary to getting

 

Up each day and enjoying

That first cup of coffee. 

 

This is Poem #97 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map, and write from there.

Crypto Map

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

Red gingham vinyl

Lines the shelves and a metal

Table housed our coffee mugs. 

Nostalgia doesn’t get closer

Than this. AM radio

Was a smooth train ride

For Paul Harvey and Swap & Shop, and

Your knife scraping

Over crusty toast. 

Nana’s curlers still in

And her pink cotton robe. 

You left the coffee

Pot on all day – sipping

black oil liquid gold 

Between Larry’s visits

And Jean’s. 

You’ve all left now.

Wooden counters replaced

With Corian and the drop

Ceiling gone to the dump

As it should. Do they

Keep

the door

to the basement

Closed and the leaky

Floors and asbestos from

Ruining their lives?

(Get out of our house.)

White linoleum floor,

And the twin oven that made

The best french Fries. 

Heating up Pizza Hut

In the toaster oven

And cooking a real

Meat burger while

You played 

Twilight League. 

This is Poem #72 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map, and write from there.

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