Yesterday, I tried something a little different. I started out writing a prose poem, but wasn’t satisfied with it—so I took what I had written and adapted it to more of a free-verse form. First, the prose poem:
Writing
Dear Wednesday…
Dear Wednesday,
RIP, coffeemaker.
Love,
Kevin
(28 December 2016)
168.7 (a poem)
By chance, I happened upon a prompt that directed me to turn to page 168 of a book, then use all of the words appearing in the seventh line of text on the page. The book I happened to grab was Fight Club…
Dear Tuesday…
Dear Tuesday,
Shall we?
Love,
Kevin
(27 December 2016)
Dear Monday…
Dear Monday,
Thanks for giving us a break today. After Sunday, we need it.
Love,
Kevin
(26 December 2016)
There is no syntax to silence (a poem)
Title courtesy of Vasilina Orlova.
Dear Sunday…
Dear Sunday,
So this is Sunday…
Love,
Kevin
(25 December 2016)
The emptiest Xmas ever (a poem)
Trying to figure out my total lack of interest in Xmas this year…
Dear Saturday…
Dear Saturday,
I balanced out my night of extra sleep with a night of not enough sleep. Maybe that’s why you feel like Saturday, but not-Saturday…
Love,
Kevin
(24 December 2016)
The dilemma of a poet uncomfortable with poetry (a poem)
Trying to find poetry in print is often a frustrating exercise for me. There is plenty of it out there; the hard part is finding poems that I can connect with. I was looking at books in the poetry section of Third Place Books this afternoon; this poem followed not long after.
Ordinary Average Thoughts 