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December 31, 2016

Cats don't care about Trump,
(Even if he is a pussy-grabber.)
The day after the election,
They didn't hiss and pull out their fur
In grief, worry, and outright

Anger. No. They got up.
Played with hair ties
And tiny fabric mice.
They asked for treats
And chased their tails;

They curled into tight balls
And napped. Around them,
Morning rose high amid
Our collective disbelief
That some could hold

Their own country
In such low esteem
To vote that way -

But the cats each purred,
Rolled onto their backs,
Invited us to rub
Their stomachs.



This wraps up the year-long Poem (almost) Everyday Project. This, Poem #230 (not 241 as originally erroneously counted), was the last of the writing that was perhaps my best therapist during one hell of a tumultuous year. One that began with the deaths of Bowie, Richman, and Prince and ended with the deaths of Michaels and Fisher. One in which I experienced exceptional workplace drama, and where an outdated electoral system decreed a bullying troll had been “elected” and would occupy the White House.

But, thanks to poetry, we can survive much.

Now, onto a new project for 2020. Put your ass-to-chair and keep writing.

Week #43 from the TwinGeekz Artz Project 3 January 23, 2012

I can write recess from memory-
broken swings and hearted-boys.
 
I can write with each ounce of
truth I tried to shake
out of your mouth.
 
I can write with lazy summer
days under a hot Tuscan sun.
 
I can write with dripping
dizziness memories of the way
I loved you.
 
I can write with meth-
lab nights and heroin
afternoons.
 
I can write with coffee stains.
 
I can write with twinkling
lights of good things past.
 
I can write with the icy
fingers of my righteous anger.
 
I can write with a broken, shy
little girl in a yellow, satin nightgown.
 
I can write with the loss of you.
TGAP theory in Graphic Poetry form,  featuring the original seven Geekz.
 (Geek w.c. pelon submitted 52 weeks of Graphic Poetry during TGAP 1.)

  TwinGeekz is a loose affiliation of loose affiliates in New Hampshire who began the TwinGeekz Artz Project challenge in May of 2005; the task was for each of the original seven participants to produce and submit a piece of art every week for one year.  Every artist succeeded in completing their 52 pieces of art, and thus the TGAP theory was proven: “all creativity needs is a deadline”. 

Let’s do it again! #tgap2020 join us!

December 27, 2016

The bad pearl twirls
And collects more to grow
After it sets itself
In an oyster mind.

The expanding gem of disaster
Blocks out the lightness
Of daily living to make
Doom the new norm.

It's easy to care for, this
Developing smoothness, rolling
Around until it's so gigantic
It's become a fixed mass in grey

Matter. What's the matter?
The question long forgotten,
The sand and initiation,
Like dirt in the eye,
That started it all.

Even that's no longer
Visible or available
For inspection

Under the perfect roundness
Of this entity.


This is Poem #227 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.

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.

October 12, 2016

The electronic glare says 12:01,
And my eyes are wide
To the ceiling. She, tiny,
And quiet at last, asleep

In the bassinet at our feet.
He sleeps, peacefully, as I
Replay Fox 25 newscasts
In my head. Domestic

Violence. Assault. The latest
Homicide in Holyoke. A noise
Downstairs and it is over.

I remind myself
Of the four cats, but my imagination
Creates a tall, gaunt man, pale

From drugs or drinking;
He is not alone - but he has

Jimmied the door open
For a night of terror
For all. We've got no money

For his coffers. Cam,
Asleep across the hallway,
"How could we leave him,
alone in there?" I

Do not wake anyone else
As the imaginary home invasion
Plays out in my paranoid
Experience. Tortured,

I will myself to sleep.
Night terrors and purple walls,
The bright summer sky
Outside the full view glass.

I imagine my own death.
Maybe it is okay.

This is Poem #180 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. 

September 5, 2019

We are all a bit
Ov'rwhemled now.
We have cut back
And trimmed the fat

Until one person is
Supposed to be three.
Panic attacks
Are the norm.

(That fight or flight
or dig yourself
into a hole response
never left with evolution.)

At the top,
The white powder
Streaks freely
Over naked backs.

The unemployment
Lines are long -
Even though there
Is plenty of work.

I will take some bread.
Wish I had the time
To butter it.

This is Poem #161 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. 

August 15, 2016


Sometimes the bucket has to dive,
Travel deep to gather the iron
Rich water. And alcohol, 

Water in itself, a tonic,
To get to the bottom quicker.
We can pile up stones

Over what really destroys
Us. Pretend we have never lost
Anything or anyone, but

It is down there. No
Matter how big the stupid
Smile smeared across the face. 

Well of Initiation

This is Poem #149 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.

Happiness tips his hat in Central Park

 

Yesterday, you posted

A picture of happiness

As it walked upon

Proteins in the brain.

 

Joy strolled upon

Joy upon joy –

Green and orange

 

And filigree. Restore

Parasols in parks, stop

At the hot dog vendor, he’ll

Tip his hat to passersby –

 

Sorrow, contempt, wrath –

 

Will they respond

In kind? When

It rains does

 

Happiness take his

Umbrella or wear

Sunglasses when it’s

 

So bright that some sort

Of sunshine beams in

Though each Ear

Canal, nostril, his

Mouth? All  transit

Authorities letting information

 

From an outside world in. Determined,

Joy will indeed leave

His cane with cape and cap,

 

Trek the mountain unassisted.

 

This is Poem #16 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.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished”, and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

I was tethered

But floating for months.

Work can do that to you.

 

I had a weak radio

Signal – thank God – but

I couldn’t bring me home

 

Just yet. Check ignition

and may God’s love

be with you.  I’d hoped

 

To make Sunday’s service,

But floating with no

Sunday best, it was impossible.

 

Somedays the tether

Was so taut

It would not let

 

Me float away and Doctor

Said drugs would

Bring me home

 

From this malfunction.

 

Can Earth fix me –

NASA help – when

 

I left my tools

On the kitchen counter

Next to a tall glass

 

Of water, waiting

To be sipped and instructions

So difficult for me

 

To follow?

 

Poem #5 of the Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give useful critique.

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