May/June Writing Collection
My second installment - Drafts, thinkings, and more formal attempts at bringing words and feelings to life. May they set you ablaze.
Tropical fish flakes fall from my fingers Rainbow color crushed Fed to fish Four fish with names both familiar and forgettable For fish I’m certain, know how to dance Dance like summer leaves, like raindrops on windshields, like we used to,
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Tana writes about smoking weed, Adam releases a sigh that lasts three years, Jill conjures poems with bated breath, And Bartone becomes my favorite author of the day And suddenly it becomes so clear, Each page must be filled with more than just words
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Does "I love you" truly sound the same
When I say it through gritted teeth?
Or do the vibrations on my lips
Translate to something else entirely?________________________________________________________________
She said I mumble
little nothings when I dream
and it sounds like
Que Sera, Sera
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When said in earnest,
“Tell me again”
Must be worth its weight in gold
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March march, march, march. Be revolutionary. March, march, march, march. Be revolutionary. Do not protest or encamp. Do not ask for labor rights. Do not talk about emails. Do not change the status quo. Sound off One, two. Sound off Reyes. March, march, march, march. Be revolutionary. ________________________________________________________________
I walk by the encampment on my college campus but only after I read about what happened at Columbia. I fear for the students that I’m thinking about. Thinking about their thinking. Thinking about my writing. Writing about the thinking. Then the moment passes and I haven't done anything for change. I start writing a poem about Spring but it only grows in New York and in police departments I despise. I’ve never really thought about the things I’m scared to lose when the police want to trade violence for peace. I don’t know enough about Palestine or Israel. I just know people are in pain and nothing demands your attention like pain.
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Tell me, what do you love most?
Moments of meditation
Or the stretch that comes after?________________________________________________________________
I look at the body as a metaphor What is my posture? How do I throw myself around the ring? My body adapts to grief and to stress As if it was a muscle I idolize ________________________________________________________________
First, we had Covid Then, we get Amanda Gorman So of course, I read Maya Angelou And she commands, “You must learn your history”, I start with, “A Rock, A River, A Tree” And end with an honest conversation between her and me.
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All scientists ask the same questions
What are we doing here
and why does it matter?
I don’t care if you study anthropology,
Or theoretical physics
All authors want to title their work
The Dawn of Everything
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I’m proud of you brother
My brother, a master
Which means driveway basketball champ
Now comes second on the resume
I don’t know when that stopped happening
When change finally made one thing
something else entirely
As if you’ve always been 24 years old
Always capable of mastery
Destined to be right here
You’re deserving of every honor
And I wish I told you that more
More than just the day
When everyone else says it too
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I’m a perfectionist in recovery
An addict for addiction
So why should I be surprised
Being sober is my new fixation
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That’s too many goodbyes for one day, I said So instead of talking, we look up at the sky The place where we go when we sleep Everything looks like a leg of Orion Or a handle to the Little Dipper Just like us, Connected without needing words to prove it
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He said I couldn’t think of one moment
So instead I decided to tell her every moment
And that’s when we agree
”Appreciating the things within things”
Is a vow within itself ________________________________________________________________
There’s only so many times I can say
That the bird poop on my newly pristine windshield
Is actually the best metaphor for life
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When the mind demands to think
I hope you think of lakes that shimmer
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Humans are awful Sometimes even vicious and cruel Humans invented middle school and Elon Musk But they also invented weddings, and dancing late into the night They contrived ways to carefully catch fireflies, Arranged lavender cornflour blue bouquets, And made possible quiet conversations with your mother In the shadow of the dairy barn But best of all, They invented Hallelujah They invented Hallelujah
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All trees are promise keepers. Can you hear them speak? Leaves rustle and say, "I'm here too. "And I'll watch over this union" "until my roots wither and rot." "You may find my branches barren." "My being carved and battered." "But I will keep your promise too." "To grow alongside you both." "From this day forward." "And every day after."
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What does it mean to endure? To be weathered I aspire to become Yayoi Kusama’s Obliteration Room It is a process says my younger self Some day my tower will reach the heavens from Babylon But if there is enjoyment in the task itself When play and work become synonoms or maybe even siblings Then everything becomes inevitable You are every moment all at once simultaneously both before and after resilient. You are stalagmites growing in the dark You are a century moving slowly You are becoming yourself
https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/yayoi-kusama-8094/yayoi-kusamas-obliteration-room
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I’m learning loving-kindness can not be all or nothing. Maybe it’s some other absolute. What I’m trying to say is, we have to meet others, and ourselves, where we’re at. That makes sense. But what I really mean is, we’re all somewhere in between. So I told him I didn’t want to talk to him because he was Bridgewater. And how could Bridgewater be a place that hurt me and also a place I called home?
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I decide today I am the expert, World-renowned and stunningly accurate Forget Robert Frost and H.D Thoreau I am the authority on New England's seasons Who else bathes in Hadley’s pungent farming Who sings to birds in their own pitch and meter Watch me imitate Levertt’s babbling brook Or how I role-play the Seven Sisters Because when I tell you The trees have never been more green, And how Summer’s warmth has returned with all of its ferocity, You better believe me.
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Should poetry be a puzzle?
A wall to climb
between my audience and I
Should I compare thee to a summer’s day?
But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
I’m starting to believe Juliet is the sun
And my favorite poetry lies in the east
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Nothing is more important
Than the conclusion you write, he says
Because you knew the answer all along
And the poem is just here to remind you
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Your friendship is my most prized possession
Which is why I felt like it belonged here
Amongst all the other beautiful things I try to create
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Grief changes a home
Kitchen corners vandalized
Blankets seared with scents
Repainting will be impossible
Just before it gets a little easier
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Call me a brawler, A lover of a good scrap because fighting actually means truth-telling Fighting means “I love you”, almost always comes after. As a kid growing up, I stopped waiting for “I love you” And instead started looking for a fight I could lose Because when I say, “I’m sorry”, Actually means, “I love you enough to try again” Actually means, “Fighting hurts less than keeping the truth to myself” Actually means, “I finally feel close to you” ________________________________________________________________
The books and movies that have inspired some of these poems: Stories of Your Life and Others by Ted Chiang / Untinears & Antennae For Maurice Ravel by Jonathan Williams / Practice on Mountains by David Bartone / The Complete Poetry by Maya Angelou / The Bikeriders / The Iron Claw
They invented Hallelujah! So many gems here, Jacob. Thank you.