Poetry: Wishing

I’ve been writing a lot of poetry lately, mostly fragments and incomplete sections of what might become longer poems — I go through phases where I crank out a lot of words. Most of the time, I never go back to those fragments; a lot of it is drivel or stream-of-consciousness (and often both). Out of the past weeks’ writing, though, a trope seems to be emerging, something about dreams and/or wishes.

The latest fragment (from just now!):
Lately it feels like I’ve been wishing on a jar of dead fireflies
We all forget to poke holes in the lid sometimes
Until we are gasping for breath while others shake us for light

But with your last breath left 
If you decide it’s not over yet
You might remember how to shine

From last week:
Look, I know I’m a dreamer, but my friends are, too
And we don’t just sit on clouds dreaming, we do
We’re not just creating a revolution, we’re building a community
and seeking every opportunity to reach out to those who do care
to reach out to those who do dare to daydream

Because in a world full of problems, is there anything braver
than staring it all in the face and saying, ‘Yeah, I can change that?’

… we’re building our dreams together, and right now I’m talking to you
What are you going to do?

And also this fragment, which will probably become friends with the one above it:
What are you waiting for? You can sign your own permission slip
And I’ll share the star I’m wishing with

Can I post poetry here? I’m not sure if it fits in with the original blog concept, per se, except that poetry provides insight into my thinking process, so maybe it’s the most fitting. I have a not-quite fully formed thought about the impetus driving our culture’s obsession with recording every thought is linked to information supersaturation, the rise of social media and technology and the sense that we’re struggling to figure out what makes us human in a world that seems less and less personal. Coupled with that unformed thought is a less-unformed one that literature and art to reach across the lacunae between people to transmit feelings, emotions, lived experiences.

Sometimes when I read old journal entries or e-mails, I can recognize my voice, but not necessarily connect with how I felt while writing those pieces. But when I read poems I’ve written, I viscerally remember the emotions and feelings that went into them, even if the poems themselves are terrible.

2 responses

  1. YES! Please, please, pretty please post poetry up here. Or anywhere! Just make them available for us!
    Sorry if this is stalkerish, but I saw you at Tuesday Night and you were amazingg! I was surprised to come home and learn that your poetry doesn’t show up on my youtube or google searches. I wanted to forward some of them to my friends! Instead, I just found your (AWESOME) blog.
    But YES. Please share!

    • Hey Liz, thanks for the comment! I’m totally flattered, and it’s great to get feedback. Some of my friends actually told me to my face once that they’d googled me out of boredom, so it happens — and I guess that’s what the blog is about, right?

      I’ll probably be posting more unfinished poetry here, and my family has also been telling me to put last Tuesday’s performance up on YouTube. (I just haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it yet; seeing myself on film is weird somewhat terrifying, and I think I sound like a robot.) I’m probably going to be at Tuesday Night tomorrow, come say hi if you’re there!

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