Tuesday, March 18, 2014

...and yes I said yes I will yes.

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
and my friend Rebecca wants us to each write a poem a day for a month, but I'm not sure which month, and furthermore I'm not sure if I can do that seeing as I'm not a poet and I hardly have enough ideas to write in my blog in prose form on any given day, and I'm not even as brave as James Joyce to try and write this run-on sentence with no punctuation at all, because I'm afraid of readers' heads exploding from lack of commas, or in other words, places where they are allowed to pause, to breath, and to then move on at their own pace (even if just reading in your head, I find it much harder if there is no punctuation, even if it is just in my head and I don't have to actually, physically breath, it's like my brain wants to anyway), so who am I to write a poem a day when most days are uninspiring, as I sit in front of my computer screen day in and day out, applying for any and every cool job in the history of the East Coast of America, trying to then be at least a little creative on the side, when truly all I want is a reason to leave the house, but to leave the house would involve driving, which uses up gas, which I'm slowly running out of the money to pay for, but who really wants to listen to me whine all day about things when I could be  describing all the good things about being here, things I completely forgot I even missed, like driving with my windows rolled down (which I've only been able to do about two days since being back, since it's been pretty much snowing non-stop with the occasional sunny day in-between), or how wonderful it is to have a big desk again after living for a year and almost a half with a desk the size of a shoebox, crammed into the smallest, worst lit corner of my bedroom at my last house, or how beautiful the snow really is outside my bedroom window every day, even if I am slightly sick of the sight of it, or all the fiercely fantastic friends I have here, from all the points of my life thus far, including England, who know all the different sides of me, from all the different times I've been alive, some knowing all of the above and liking me anyway, or my family, who I'm enjoying getting to know as a grown-up, something that had never crossed my mind even for a fraction of a second as being a thing I'd ever find different, or having all my BOOKS in one place again, even if somehow in the move, I seem to have misplaced a few of them (which is driving me CRAZY), or watching from afar the wonderful, wondrous awakening of the museum of my heart back in England, as they inch every day closer to being open for real, all of which makes me exceedingly proud and sad all at once, or having the time between job applications, to spend most of the day reading, a luxury I have not had time for, truly, since I made time for it to read each Harry Potter book in one sitting (I read Every Day by David Levithan yesterday, the whole thing in one day- it was incredible) which, I've always felt, is the best way to experience a book, all at once, uninterrupted (Edgar Allen Poe agrees with me, saying that poetry is the truest form of writing because you can read a poem all in one sitting (I can't back that up, I might have completely fabricated that fact)), and really, truly get lost in it, or having the time to write ridiculous, run-on sentence, stream of consciousness poems (is this a poem? Is it one if I say it is? Is that poetry?) first thing in the morning, while drinking coffee, before starting another day of staring at the snow blowing around and wishing I could jump on board a snowflake and take a chilly ride around the world-

rhyming is for suckers,
and I love you. 



dolores said...

Word vomit...love it!;)

Rebecca Ladbrook said...

If this is your first poem, you're cheating! Don't start without me :). April 1st, baby :).

Maria said...

I'm not even convinced this is a poem, Rebecca, so don't worry!

Kerry said...

Poetry..prose..c'est ne fais rien!!! I like it a lot!!!!

Tanner said...

I read it all without a mental "breath," which was less daunting than I may have imagined. Or I'm just used to hearing my wife tell stories...