Taking a Breather

Taking a break from writing poetry, or rather trying to write poetry. Everytime I start I think I'm going to crack it finally and come up with something as stunning as "Intimations of Immortality" or "Idea of Order at Key West". And then I start writing, with all the usual distractions littered around and in front of me : coffee, books, newspapers, playstation3, new DVD's I haven't seen, internet, fucking facebook! Only our generation could have invented a disorder like Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. No wonder it was us - can't sit still long enough to finish the least time-consuming of tasks without wandering off into another. It would be amusing if it didn't actually mean that a lot of good work went undone or not even begun during all these periods of pointless and fruitless hyperactivity.

Then I finish a poem and read it back to myself. Most times, I have to put the computer aside before I smash it against the far wall. Other times, I kind of smile, and tell myself it's not really THAT bad. I'm getting better. But every time, every single time, I feel like I've written something just barely good enough to be rejected as the lyrics for the next Taylor Swift song. All my poems sound a little too Pop-y to me. (Note, between the previous sentence and the next I checked my email twice, my facebook page the same, and watched the video for a song I like on YouTube. The prosecution rests).

But when I thought about it, pop music, and started to list all the great songs I've ever heard, I took a little heart. I wish I could write like Shakespeare or Hemingway, and we all should wish for that level of skill and intensity in our work, whatever that work may be. However, it is far more important to discover your own true wavelength. I shouldn't try and write a poem like Wallace Stevens or Charles Bukowski. They had their experiences and their education and their points of view that colored the ink they wrote with. I have mine. And that's a good thing. To mine own self I am true. Plus if you've ever really listened to the lyrics of songs like "Edge of Desire" or "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" by John Mayer (Yes, that's right! John Mayer), or any Counting Crows or U2 song (barring some of the new stuff. Sorry Bono, you've kinda gotten a little too pop for me), you'll know that there's some real quality poetry out there disguised as pop music. And I'm just giving examples from the really popular stuff.

This entire week I've done more writing that I've been happy with than ever before, not because I've been inspired or moved or anything so cliched. I've written so much more just because I've taken the time to sit down and write. To not wait for some faerie dust to be sprinkled on me, rather just roll up my sleeves and start digging. I know most of the people that know me find my pieces quite "iffy" and hard to get through. One of my dearest friends told me he checks out about line three, everytime. But then there are those who tell me they liked what I wrote. And those very few who say that they understood what I was trying to say. That means more to me than they'll ever know.

Because I don't want to, and have never wanted these pieces to be private or hidden, or about things I don't feel strongly about. These are little pieces of me that I want you to see, because I know you have these same pieces in you. These maybe exercises or literary challenges for me, but they describe things I know more people than me have faced or dealt with or laughed at. I re-evaluated why I actually started this blog and why I've continued to post here. I want to be heard. I want to share what I know and what I see, with whoever takes the time to read it. This is not for me, these words are for you, and they always have been.

So this long ass rambling piece, was me taking a breather. Hopefully by tonight, I'll be playing percussion on these computer keys again.

To everyone who reads - leave a comment if you can. Let a brother know you hear him. Even if you don't like what you read. I'd actually appreciate a good critique.

To all that read and comment - I'd hug you if I could. Thank you.

Now! Where'd I put that damn cup of coffee. Aha...there you are, you saucy beverage....