Would That I Might

I am keeping up with my work.  Again,I am not certain what more there is to say at the moment.  I did decide to write five poems in my morning writing session, which is good, though I am still not certain the point of the work at the moment.  I mean, I just can't imagine writing about anything besides the pandemic, but I can't really think of much to say about the topic that has not been thought and said already.  Still, I keep working, and on occasion I do think maybe some of what I am writing transcends those issues just a bit.

Like Ghosts We watch the world but cannot  touch it.

Once more, I have done my writing for the day.  I am still not certain about working in the current climate, but I keep going   It feels as if that is the only choice.  I do not know what would happen to me of I stopped writing entirely right now, but I think I might lose it entirely.  At least my writing is something that I feel matters more than most of what I can do here at home.

An Infected Neighbor She says she does not know him, does not recognize the name, but I do not think it matters that much: he is a neighbor, she does not know him, but that does not mean she is somehow safe from his terms.  He is still a neighbor, but she cannot say if she has been near him recently.

I am going to keep this short, as I am hoping to get to bed a bit early tonight.  I don't sleep well, generally, and I am a bit tired.  I have gotten my writing done.  I think it may be time to consider adding more to my morn9ng session, but I have to think about it a bit more.

Good Judgement My mother says her friend is flying back to Jersey on her private jet. I comment how idiotic I think it is, given the current situation, especially the northeast. My mother does not understand, thinks I am being judgemental. How can it be? Throughout my life these were the people I thought of as the adults.

I have been writing my poems each day, and as this crisis has grown, I have continued that practice.  I do not know that the work has been of value, other than in keeping me moving forward.  I do have to wonder, though, if writing aommuch about this is leading someplace for me.  It seems to me, focusing on anything in my work should help to create growth and change which will enable me to better approach whatever I am focused on.  If not, what is the point of such a focus?  Here, that latter question is harder to answer, but it does not dismiss the general thrust.  I must either find a way to shift my focus as a writer or to make the work I am doing feel more resonant/ significan.  I tend to believe that my being aware of that need is a sign that it is about shift already.

At Home Together We do not do anything special, just spend the day at home.  We cook, we clean.  You do your chores, I do my writing.  We call your mother.  We call my brother.  Whatever else we do, it is nothing, is only filling the time so we will not spend our day watching the news.

It slowly becomes normal, even something as absurd as this begins to become normal.after just a few days.  Still, writing is not so easy in such a time.  I know that is not only my experience, but I also know hu ow helpful it can be to just have an outlet, even if the work is largely just personal journali g.  I know how absurd attempting to write, to create art of any sort right now, can seem, and I keep coming back to the thought that bgg it is the very absurdity of it that makes it so important to do at such a time, it is the hopefulness of that stupidity.  As well, I have to wonder, though it is clear we are all in this, what of the future?  It may be, I can hope at least, that some of this work may take on meaning later.

Stuck Home I thought my days would not be the same, but I am still myself, even here, what finds me is the same as what I would find my day contained were it in other locales. My experiences seem to know who they are for.

While I do feel compelled to continue my writing during this uncertain time, I am finding it difficult.  In part, this is because I can't help but focus my attention on the pandemic, the virus, and the various responses to that.  I am not judging my choice to focus on that, largely because it is not so much a choice for me.  It is my mental focus, and my writing reflects that.  But is is not easy, and I know that whatever I write is likely to be insignificant in this context.  However, I also hope that, by doing so much of it, perhaps I will grow past that and discover what I want to communicate about the world right at this moment.

Each Day It Will Get Worse for many more days it will be worse from one day to the next, watch how the numbers grow.  It will not change tomorrow or next week. There will be names, familiar names, even friends, family. It will continue, each day there will be more, it will be worse. This is the way it will be.  Do not think pretending ot can change sooner will help. It will be bad, but that does not mean it cannot be made worse.

I am keeping at it.  That is about all there is to say.  It is such a strange time, but what is there to say about that which anyone reading this today is unaware of.  How things have changed.  I am sitting outside tonight.  It would be easy to mistake the quiet around me for peace.

How Many Will I Know? I fear a call late at night or early, perhaps, that someone I love has become one of the rising numbers on our screens. Already, an email about a high school music teacher in the hospital.  How many people will I know? How close will this cut and how deep?  How long will we bleed?

A lot of writers I know cannot work right now.  I am hearing that many people are finding it hard to even read a book.  The virus is all-consuming, and anything we do seems silly in this context.  I certainly feel that too.  If I am honest, I don't know what the value or point of my current work is.  It has been almost exclusively about what is happening.  It isn't insightful, I don't think, it is just me forcing myself to write, even if that is just letting out my feelings of fear, anxiety, frustration, etc.  To me, it is important, not because it is that outlet, though that can be positive, but because it is a reminder to me that the virus is not everything, is a way to act towards the hope of a world that is ruled by something besides the pandemic.

This Is Not A Safe World It is a dangerous place, even in better times it is dangerous, but it becomes clear, at times it must be made quite clear before we can learn our lessons

I am trying to just remain focused on my writing and not get panicked.  Of course, that does not mean I am not taking precautions.  I am not going our except when absolutely necessary and I am keeping in touch with those I care about, but I am trying to keep myself from falling into fear or despair, or getting overly worried in unproductive ways.  Towards that end, I have focused on continuing my writing, and am attempting to consider the kind of work I want to be writing in response to this.  I don't know, yet, but it is at least an outlet for some of my anxieties. .

Witnesses It is unclear what will be or when  it will come to be, but what comes now, what is here before us will be  our world for some time, will close in upon us all. When the world returns to safety, we will each carry it, will each be asked who we knew who is not here that we must speak for.

It is strange how close the idea that writing my poems is necessary for me to do right now seems to the thought that it is utterly pointless and silly in the world right now.  In part, the fact that we are all supposed to stay home helps me to feel that writing is something I can do to feel at least productive during this strange time, but also, it is in some way the very fact that my writing is not a practical response, that it has an absurd quality as a way to attempt to interact with what is happening, that in some way makes it more significant to me.

Going Out We drive to pickup dinner, the first we have been out in days.  We won't even leave the car. On the way, we see one couple walking a dog. They are alone, anyone else is inside.

I have at least started writing early in the morning.  I women up and wrote my first set of poems almost immediately, and I did the same yesterday.  I wonder if some part of it is a response to the world situation.  I don't know, perhaps it is resisting the darkness, or it might be just seeing the need to use every moment one can.  Maybe those are the same thing.  Or, it might not be connected to this at all, but it seems to me that everything is connected to the crisis right now...

It Took So Much to Connect The World technology built over centuries turning impossible journeys into easy trips.  We have made it one world, now we must learn it does not happen there, it happens here, too.

What is there to say?  We are waiting to see how bad everything will become.  I have been hearing the count growing for the county.  I can't deny being scared of what is going to happen.  I do keep writing, though.  It seems more important than ever to keep creating, both in terms of remaining sane through this, but also because of the symbolic importance of not letting this crisis destroy everything that matters.

It Has Risen into our world, is here now, crossing the globe, visiting devestation, it is here now, is there too. It has come to all of us.

It is quite hard to stay focused on writing with everything in crisis.  I don't even know what to write about aside from the need for social distancing and the existential threat our world is currently struggling with, but I am not certain what to say about it.  It is overwhelming.  It is also the uncertainty of things right now.  The fact that we do not have any idea just how bad this will get or how long we will be dealing with it, the idea of loved ones getting sick, or of being sick myself.  All of it is hard to shake.  Of course, i do write about it, but I am not certain I know how to do so yet, let alone have anything to say about it that I think is all that interesting.

They Are Still Playing Golf The world is in crisis, everyone being told to stay home, to avoid any unnecessary errands, but the golf course, that is still open, even now the golfers must still have there fun.

I am rather worn out, emotionally and physically.  I spent much of the day focused on thoughts of my father, and I cannot help but wish I had his wisdom, love and presence in my life right now.  I don't know what he would do or say and I am aware that no one has the power to really do much right now, but I still am aware that he always sought to protect those he loved, and I very much miss that about him at this point in history.

It Would Have Been Better to press on, but the night had already worn me.  My feet, my arms, my eyes and even tongue, they all sought rest.  I was not so tired, but the parts of me had there own demands.

It is the anniversary of the day my father died, and it was around this hour of the morning when my mother and I drove to the hospital to be at his bedside when he passed.  I don't really have a lot that I can say, though it feels particularly poignant in this time to think of how important it can be to cherish those we love while we can. 

Thoughts in A Pandemic I must reach out to my friends, must not let distancing become distance, must isolate one way but remember to reach out.  There is balance, not panicking while responding, but I must call my friends, I must do it now, it is not so bad, I must do it now before it is.

Each day, I set out to write as much to hone and practice as to create finished work.  That is not to say that I don't strive in writing even the most hurried-off sketch of a poem I don't seek to give my entire effort, indeed I often find the act of writing with that sort of abandon can focus the effort in some ways.  That does not deny the need for more careful and methodical work, but often that comes in revision, but the energy of the first draft cannot be faked, or at least I am not skilled enough to do so.  I often have thoughts about ideas that are interesting and even poignant but do not shape up to poems.  At times, I can turn these ideas around in my mind to find an angle that works, but not always.  In writing so much, I often have the issue of wanting to use each idea that comes to me, so it is not uncommon for me to spend a good deal of time attempting to get an idea to work when it is simply not fit.  This leads me to think that one of the major challenges I face m

He Sat Many Days in the empty field song nothing besides sensing the grass, until he discovered the whispers of their rustling spoke the secrets of that place.

Keeping this short tonight, but I am doing well maintaining my routine, writing twice today once more.  With things as crazy as they have been and are getting, I think I am finding solace focusing upon reestablishing order in my work life.

The Coming Wave It has begun, is rising out there in the depths of the ocean, but it cannot be said how it will grow, how large it will become before it crests, what will come crashing against the shore.

I have been quite slow tonight.  My foot is still in a great deal of pain, which has been distracting, but I got my work done in the end.  I wrote this afternoon, so I did get my two sessions in.  I am hopeful that my foot will feel better tomorrow.  It certainly felt better than it did yesterday, and it takes time to get fully recovered, but even so, I hope that tomorrow it will be improved at least a bit.

Do Not Ask any of those questions, they are just mean spirited, asking why we did what we did, implying our actions were wrong, thinking there are negative consequences to any act we have taken. Impertinent, idiotic, insulting.  No, you must not ask such questions, only once questions that we want to answer, that recognize our perfection.

I am going to keep this short, as I am having a gout flare up and really just want to lie down with my foot elevated.  In spite of my ailment, I did get my work done, including two sessions, though the first was later in the day than I would like.  I am glad to find that this did not derail me in my latest effort to get back into my previous routine.

Souvenir He was holding that breath, saving it for later.  He knew it would not keep, but he wanted it as a memento, hoped he could taste again the air of that afternoon just before it began to rain.

My day has been rather frustrating  but I still managed to fit both my writing sessions in.  I am getting back to the point of feeling that sense of necessity, that if I do not continue the same ritual it will break something.  I want this kind of compulsion around that aspect of my writing, if I am honest, as it does help me to maintain my work.  In many ways, I think of it more the way many consider exercise regiments, even to the point that it can begin as a negative challenge but transform into a positive one with consistent pursuit.  I am getting there again and expect that tomorrow, I will have a stronger drive to maintain this same routine.

None Is Not An Option It is not available. Choose more or less, to take or give. The exchange  is inevitable.

Today was another success as far as regaining my routine.  If I am honest, I would like to get my first writing session done earlier in the day, but just getting back into the habit of splitting my writing into two sessions is worth acknowledging.  It is a step towards rebuilding the regimented practice I had for so long.  It has been difficult building it back up since Ulysses's death, but I am getting there.

Is It Or Isn't It? It began to flash, to blink in and out, as if it were not certain it existed, as if it might be there instead of where it seemed to be.  How could it be?  It should have been solid, or it should not have been.  The universe does not allow such indecision, but it did not care what the universe thought, such rules were not for it.

I once again was able to cajole myself to work earlier today.  I find it sort of silly that I feel like I have been slacking off not writing more when I have been consistently writing in excess of ten poems a day lately, but I think there is a psychological value in working both at the start and at the end of my day.  It gives me a stronger sense that I am accomplishing something.  I do not feel that I am putting off my work when I do something else after writing in the morning, a feeling that often still comes when I only write at night.  I need to keep that in mind and stick with my morning and evening writing routine.

The Similarity You do this like she did once, but she has stopped, and I cannot tell you it was a thing she did, because you would only think I was saying you were too much alike.

I got myself working early in the day and accomplished a few tasks I had been intending to get done for some time.  As well, I got a few poems written, and am hoping that will spur me to maintain a two time a day writing routine once more.  It has been difficult to get back into that habit, so I will have to see what happens tomorrow morning.

Too Much Is Not Possible within Words They walk corridors of worn carpet, may swim or fly, might know juggling tricks or dance steps, but the worn carpet should still be replaced.

I have a lot of work I want to get done tomorrow.  I am hoping that by writing about it here, I will push myself to do it, but I know that has not always worked.  I need to overcome my current malaise and get serious about things.  I have been writing, but I have not been doing the other work I need to in order to build my career as a writer.

Continuing With This Is Not Progress Turn off that and turn on the other one instead.  Stop that to start what must be started.  What is already done was enough for what had to be done, do not keep at it, though there is momentum it is time to move on towards what must come next.

I know I have a lot to do that goes beyond just the writing itself at this point, and much of that work still causes me anxiety.  I am often very slow with submissions.  I have certainly let deadlines pass for submissions.  I had believed that writing more would get me through much of that, but I know I need to confront these issues.  I need to let myself recognize that it is often important to do things that seem scary, that may provoke a painful result.

Be Attentive The place here is for that.  To place that anywhere but here would show such lack of care.  It is the details that will matter, the smallest of them may be the most.

In accepting the value of the work I am doing, I am also learning to relax and allow the poems to happen.  I have mentioned before that it can take effort to get started at times, and this remains true, but I am also aware that the real key is in stepping back from attempting to control the work too much.  There is, of course, work that can only be done with a rigorous intent and conscious attention to every detail of the poem, but when that comes to me, I am rarely at a loss about how to proceed.  Besides, even in such cases, laying aside criticism is necessary.  But, if I am honest, I am not merely speaking of laying aside those considerations, I am speaking of allowing the work to create itself.  It is about relaxing into discovery, letting the words and sentences to be a surprise that can teach me what I seek to communicate.

It Is So but only if seen from the way it is seen by those who will say it is so.

As I am not working according to my preferred schedule, and have been somewhat stagnant in terms of the rate of my writing, I often do not let myself take the time to appreciate what I am still accomplishing.  That is not to say that I am not wanting to make changes and move forward, but I think I can do that better when I don't dismiss what is already occurring.  In some ways, being negative is a help as it does keep me from resting or feeling that I am at some peak, but it is important to find a balance that also allows me to celebrate what I am doing now, to acknowledge that it is positive and important.

Visitation There is a lizard that comes to visit me as I sit out in the back behind the house. It rests, at times between my legs, almost on my foot. It is small but does not fear me. It comes so often, it must know me, somehow, it must know me.  I wonder, is it you?  Can it be you?

I am not certain about my poems of late.  Thiley have been changing, and I have been trusting more in my unconscious impulses, which often results in wild ideas at times.  I find it difficult knowing which of these poems is really succeeding and which are not. 

Do Not Go Wandering All About You seek it everywhere, but remember where you are is also a place worth attending.

I do not have a lot to say tonight, especially as it is quite late and I have an early morning.  I fell victim to my tendency to wait until too late in the evening to start my work.  I am easily distracted, and lately have been struggling with this.  But I have still managed to get the work done, even if not in a way that would feel more convenient.

There Is A Shadow swaying on the wall, but what is it the shadow of?  It trembles, not quite still, but nothing seems to move.  The shape of it is too unfamiliar, must be a distortion of the caster.  It is only a shadow against the wall in a dark room, but it is enough of a mystery that I will not sleep, will open my eyes to weigh the shadow before I can.

I should press myself to write more at this point.  I have not increased my output in some time, but I am a bit hesitant when I want to get myself back to writing in the morning again.  It may be that I am better off writing more in the one session and not putting pressure on myself about my schedule.  I do believe it is important for me to keep increasing the challenge around my work, and the easiest way to do that is by writing more.  It may be that is a better approach than continuing to fight a losing battle with myself to shift my work routine back towards its previous, admittedly  preferable, structure.

So Much Laundry is here waiting to be done, it is piling up, more clothes than I thought I owned.  I should just get it done, but now, not doing it has an inertia, the piles growth a perverse accomplishment.  Pushed to such extremes even my failings can twist to seem a source of pride.

Yet another day in which I have been slow to get myself working.  It does not take me long to do my work, but getting myself motivated enough to begin has not been easy of late.  I am wondering what I can do to reinvigorate my work, but I think it may be that I just need to accept this for the moment.  Of course, I only say that in the hope that by accepting it, I can find my way through, but I am fairly certain that goes against the idea of actually accepting it in the first part.

That Cat Appeared Again I saw it today, the black one that sits by the road where it curves, just near where it meets the main street and ends. I wanted to get out to see if it would be a friend, but a car was coming from behind, I could not stop.  It is probable the cat would not have understood, anyway, would have been hostile, afraid. I hope I see it again soon, that I have a chance to know for certain if the cat is unafraid enough to be loved.