Poem : Sumi-e

This isn't a poem about Japanese ink.

Due to COVID-19 I've been working from home since March 13th. In that month I have not been able to really get in to writing.

It feels stilted. Tiring. Less important to me on a personal level.

On Friday, my company had to lay off 50% of their employees. About 250 people. I was "lucky" enough to keep my job. And I am grateful.

I am grateful.

This was written on Saturday the 11th. It is not about COVID or layoffs or even really about not being in to writing at the moment.

It is about feeling like I am a dry brush waiting.

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Sumi-e

It dips itself — the handle — it — has something — filament a golden hair — within that it must — express — as grapes underfoot — it dips itself — the well of creativity — see it knows — something we do not — has that inside its head — it is a blankness waiting — it dips itself — like honey or a pool of warm water — the image began eons ago — creativity is an ink waiting for the dryness of a horsehair — to have a thought of its past life — have wells of past selves to unmoor — a cliff face waits to fall into the sea all of its life —

Poem-A-Day #204 : Last Chance

Last Chance

All the trees in the world are trying
to keep this place locked and double-locked

The gates are chained and the path is
suddenly less clear there is no sky in the sky

I am rocked in its cradle - a colicked baby
I would have never suspected this of myself

Being able to tilt the cradle onto the floor
to muss the world until it is all blankets in furrows

Undo the ease of life and run a left-behind goose
in the midst of coming winter

The last chance Eleanor in some mythic story
rocks going only uphill etc etc etc

Excitement drowns the voices screaming from the lake
get out of here get away turn back re-lock

Turn tail goose the winter is not so bad
there will be shelter in some field or other

You will find a table to sit at that isn't vile
diseased or full of broken plates and your brother's flesh

Bones light as the air I cannot see
feathers and all that floating like dust on the wind

When the gate opens you will find yourself
moving without movement forwards always forwards