flying irishman

I'm doing 13 things

How I did it
How to do napowrimo 2009 (a poem a day during April)
It took me
30 days
It made me

Recent entries
Complete NaPoWriMo (write a poem a day in April) 2014 (read all 18 entries…)
Where words go

This is the void where words go to die
after they’re no longer wanted.
Ancient languages occupy whole corners of their own,
Which they guard against invading dialects,
Who have nothing more to occupy their time
Than to assault their brethren.
It is not a happy place. But sometimes
When the mood strikes, some remember
When 50 million voices were speaking them at once
And they were exhilarated and flush with emotions,
For a short time, it is as though time turns back
And the 50 million can’t even think for themselves
Without them. And then they return to the void
and only wonder, Who is to blame for this
and What went so very wrong?

Complete NaPoWriMo (write a poem a day in April) 2014 (read all 18 entries…)
Let's stay in tonight

Recognition implies a kind of knowing,
whether you’ve ever spoken or not,
whether you once nodded your head
at someone in a crowd for some
arbitrary reason like,
That’s the hat I want to buy.
Whether its someone you recognize
for having been a friend’s friend
now jilted and hurting,
or whether it’s someone
who you knew well in a way
that was limited to one time & place,
like a school or a barracks.
The things you don’t know about
one another could hurt you bad
& end sever your connections.
You’re better off not knowing.
That’s why I try not to ask
questions I don’t need to ask.
You recognize something, not someone,
it’s only hold that you have, a claim
to a piece of the other person
from which he or she can’t escape.
And you never spoke to that person
who gets a read on you
from one conversation over coffee
that is clearer than any other,
you may wish for better understanding
by everyone you love,
those lovely people who haunt you
with their misperceptions,
as though you were made of soft clay
and could reshape yourself.
What keeps you going sometimes
is the other people who will see you
for the flash of five seconds
who you will recognize in some accurate way,
as they do you, and you’re beholden to them,
even on an evening like this
when you love & highly prize your dear friends.

Complete NaPoWriMo (write a poem a day in April) 2014 (read all 18 entries…)
Don't tell me

There are certain things you won’t do for this job;
I decide what you’ll do; do it.

Don’t tell me
You are unhappy. Keep that sort of talk
to yourself. You say you’re a creative type:

Pretend you’re happy. Do it in such a way
no one realizes you’re pretending.

Don’t tell me
you don’t want blueberry pie for your birthday, the berries
fresh-picked for you, so lucky to have been born in July.

Don’t tell me
You don’t like the vibes and rhythms of this place.
You’re here to sort and file.

Don’t tell me
You’ve had better bosses. Know that when I hear you
whisper that, it hurts my feelings & I might cry.

Don’t tell me
you prefer store-bought to the homemade blueberry ice-cream
Listen, Leslie, I’ve won 4H blue ribbons for this cream.

Don’t tell me
You don’t care that I stayed up most of the night,
whisking and stirring and folding in the soft berries.

Don’t tell me
You’re not completely satisfied. Enjoy or next year I’ll make
carrot cake for your birthday. I’m not joking.

An individual such as myself can only be pushed so far,
And now I’m right on the edge. I’m teetering.

If I fall, you and all of your colleagues may
never see me again nor smell the still-warm elcairs

and sugar dumplings and bear claws I bring each day
fresh from my own oven, prepared with joy and love.

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