I struggled with this week’s poems, choosing the words, deciding the final line breaks, thinking of what it is that I really want them to say and feeling like they are communicating my intentions.
Often, after a week, I go back and look at the poems I’ve written and feel good about them, but this week was different. This week, nothing felt settled. Maybe that’s because I’m being unclear about something.
I noticed a funny thing a few days ago. I was recutting a stencil that I’ve been using a lot lately. It had filled in with paint and was changing shape. While cutting it out, I found myself feeling annoyed by the process, which is something that I usually enjoy.
For the past three years, I have been building up to the moment that is unfolding right now. Last month I had a month long exhibition and was busied by making extra art panels, stenciled bags, and clothes because people were actually buying the things that I had made.
During my exhibition, I was invited to participate in a one day pop event with other crafters and artisans. That event is this weekend. Now, I’m trying to get ready for it, and it’s exactly what I want to be doing, but what I’m realizing is that even doing the things we like to do can be hard work and requires discipline. Just because I would rather be doing this than any thing else doesn’t mean that I always want to be doing this, especially not in the early mornings or late nights while everyone else is sleeping.
Today, I stenciled tags onto all of my products. It was nice to see them completed and, looking around my studio room, which was a complete mess, full of scattered bags set out to dry, I felt really proud of what I saw.
And with that, without further ado, this week’s tiny poems.
explode upon the pavement;
these little pleasures.
our children are like stars,
shining from the past.
where I always stop and look.
That’s where it happened.
the complete stillness I feel
in all this motion?
an inconvenient tree
watching us patiently
I say these words every year,
but I never do.
on your back like a snail—
burdened by comfort.
I see your tiny poems as nuggets of wisdom!
Thought-provoking. 🙂 !LUV
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That's encouraging to hear. Thank you.
That's encouraging to hear. Thank you.
Little poems loaded with so much to say, so much that they show. Like a picture that comes more than thousand words.
Thanks for sharing.
Good day.
I hope this week’s set of poems carried as much weight as you say they do. I felt very mixed about them, but shared them anyway.
❤️
So that's your pick for this week, eh. I wonder what your corner looks like and what might have happened there.
So many corners, my friend...
Sending so much love.
Beautiful words as always <3
I should have known your answer would be pluralized. 😉
Goes like that past a certain age ;)
Just keep the tiny poems in plural bunches mmmkay?
I still think you should put them into a book and illustrate it.
I’d like to collect them into a book. I was thinking of giving it a year and having a book of 365 tiny poems.
I'm torn about the illustrations. Would a book like this work as a book of simple text, set in a nice way? Or dies it need an illustration on every other page? If so, what kind of illustration?
I've made some abstract, geometric based design your illustrations, but I'm not sure that they really accompany the text well or not.
Maybe it doesn't matter if they match/complement the text or not.
Any thoughts?
I still love the whole Japanese calligraphy thing. It's an art form on its own. Kunji I think they call it?
Could be one or two letters with this effect and subtle watercolor washes on some pages?
But yes!!! Minimal and clean. Very graphic
That's what I imagine anyway :)
The rain exploding on the pavement is so much a pleasure, it's amazing to wrap oneself in it comfort while it rain, it feels like the right place to be. A great poem from you
Thank you @dwixer. I'm glad to hear that you can relate. We had some very heavy rains here last week, and it was such a joy to see this layer of mist hanging over the pavement as a result of the rain drops smashing into the road and bursting upward.
You're welcome brother
It doesn't have to be too long to pass a message.
Carrying you home like snail, the rain splashing on the pavement and all that comes with it but not being able to pass the baton to the next generation makes the heart break in the end
Well done...
Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed those little details.
I'm going to get the hang of these short poems yet. Yours just always sound better than mine.
Whatever it is that you like about my writing, take it and use it in yours.
One thing that I like to try to do, and other people might not agree with me or think I'm successful at it, is make each line stand on its own.
By that I mean that I try to write each line so that it can be inconclusive, its own interesting statement, or the beginning of a story.
The lessons we teach our children are like stars works on one level, and on another level when broken into two lines.
Personally, I really like The lessons we teach as it's own line because it makes me wonder what lessons I teach and what lessons other people teach, also what lessons should be taught.
Then, the line Our children are like stars, I think, is an interesting statement.
I'm not quite satisfied with the final line of this poem, but I do think that it can stand on its own while still contributing to the whole.
As I said, whatever you like about my writing, use it in yours.
I will use your poems for inspiration and figure out something similar in my life to write about.
It will come to you.
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