Short Thoughts About Writing
Ink gone dry; poems still flow
Write of spaces between the stones
Stories don't exist until we speak
Leaving off letters makes new words
Sometimes writing rules break, become bent
Memory becomes filter for remembering nothing
Pages closed, the book remains unwritten
for #openwrite using Hay(na)ku Poetry Style https://www.ethicalela.com/haynaku/
Alternative Names for the Daily Newspaper
for #openwrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/alternate-names-a-list/
inspired by https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/56843/alternate-names-for-black-boys
Hiding Myself in Annotation (An Experimental Poem)
One: See #2
Two: Where a part of me might linger in a poet's notes, the other ghosts to
Three: See #5
Four: You notice I'd crouching not revealing much, in order to hide to
Five: In public spheres, where one so easily disappears, I am barely these words as you think you know me here
Six: See #3 then step to #8
Seven: I am Kevin. That much is truth.
Eight: I am writer power poet teacher preacher songwriting go it alone leaping forward like skipping stone to #10
Nine: See what I did there? Gave just enough verse to completely disappear from here, and then hit the poem upon reverse
Ten: Back to #7
for #openwrite https://www.ethicalela.com/steps-to-being-insert-name/
Whose woods these are I may no longer know as my shoes dip heavy through new-fallen snow
The dog's beyond me, on the trail of a scent as I follow her tracks, in silence, seemingly sent
from somewhere above; trees grabbing midwinter sky as I hike through the gap between the ground, and I
for #openwrite with hat nod to Robert Frost (of course) http://www.ethicalela.com/out-back-a-form/
Let's meet somewhere in the music
in the space between the staves and sound vibrations of the treble clef
Let's meet somewhere where chords connect, where your notes complement mine
in the rhythm of the movement of the signature of the time
Let's meet somewhere at the start,
and then let's meet again at the end:
this joyous singing heart
for #openwrite
Songlet
Feel free, she told me, to remember me, as tree,
to see me rooted in dirt, the unsettled place where love clings to hurt
So I sung her song - I still sing her song - so I would never forget,
for why make a sonnet, queries the poet of rules, when lines break beautiful, into songlet?
for #openwrite
Scars show healing, too, knife lines tracing wounded worlds, places of exposure in which fingers brush up against the past, the skin always sharing stories, with jagged imperfections etched deep inside the heart
for #openwrite
Awake, when sleep departs, listening to rhythms of night, the landscape inscrutable but for some small melody still yet lingering: mere gossamer and translucence and then gone
for #openwrite
There was a time when the crowd hushed, when all of our eyes watched the ball flung into motion
with such beautiful flight, its shape slightly wobbled in the air flow imbalance of impossibility
It's that breath before that I remember the most, the beauty of the possibility of perfect reception,
and not the drop, when the world stopped, and the magic of the moment, broken open
for #openwrite
What is hope
but a rope for which to climb
a chance to take our time
a moment in which we find
something within us that brings us together
for #openwrite and #clmooc