#cuppl

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Even though the poem-a-day project is over, I'm still writing.

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Read about it, write about it, eat 'em up, yum yum.

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Almost Rain, Almost Poem

It rained but it didn’t rain here somewhere the air is wet I notice it in my nostrils like a sea turtle pokes her nostrils about the surface of the water to breathe and party I poke my nose above the surface of the air to swim

PAD 9/18/14

(too metaphoric for a haiku)

(with debt to the Sea Turtle Conservancy's photo)

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This time, today, I talked the poems to myself walking from the parking garage to the office then wrote them down. Safer than driving. The paper says 9/9 but these are today’s poem drafts 9/10. I think this is further progress on the poem for the Cupertino Fall Festival.

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This poem is called “College Party”. I started it in the morning driving to work. (I do not recommend this) Just a few notes and to remember the yellow towel image. Then I emailed about the idea with a friend. (I do recommend this). Then later at home I sat down and really acted like I was writing a poem. I’m trying out Tumblr from my phone to post these photos and will type in the draft later.

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Waiting until the end of the day to write a poem (in the midst of a poem-a-day challenge) isn't a great idea. Also, when you're trying too hard to write a poem for an event (like I am right now) the results are sometimes ghastly. But since this is a documentary, here are the results of last nights efforts -- after a glass of wine. Lots of rhyme, some good images, and a lot of work still to do.

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A Constructed Thing (9/4/14)

A Constructed Thing

My body is creaking like a ship in high wind like an old house cooling in the dark I am a constructed thing adusting to the climate of age

The construction cranes bend toward each other after the workmen go home like dancers in a robot ballet    machine pilates       scaffolding yoga

Men moved them into those shapes and deserted their skeletons but when I walk by I notice them and name them as if the cranes in yellow, in black steel, had moved themselves to these kneeling prayers

The exterior shapes of the day settle into a rhythm bend with my neck with my spine we are constructed things abandoned in space and to prayer

(Again, I sat with my cup of tea and forced myself to sit still until the tea was gone. Try listening to your body. If you are very still is will speak.)