Process stuff

I seem to have a lot of poems about the process of writing.  I don't know why that is.  Maybe I'm thinking too much?  I have heard that the problem with people who study too much develop what's called "academia nervosa" and they lose their ability to write.  I wonder about that.  Robert B. Parker (Spencer, for Hire) had a PhD in English Literture, and he was able to do just fine.  A lot of it is the ability to turn off the editor while you're writing.  I think that's what gets in most people's way.  They try to edit as they go and it kills the creative flow of the work.  Sometimes we just have to let it go and let it flow.  Anyway, this one today is about the process.

Scrounging words

Scrounging words out of a mind
that has been strip-mined
down to the bedrock
with nothing left

call in the hammers
and the hard rock miners
there has to be more there
it can't all be gone

What's beneath the rock
that lies in layer upon layer
the dead from so long ago
that even it's name has forgotten

what's under the rock
under the bottom layer
so far down it doesn't remember
that there's a sky up there

go down far enough
and maybe you reach the fire
the fire in the middle
is there enough reach?


Copyright 2010 C. Thames

To Create

I've been thinking about older people lately.  Partly because I'm headed in that direction at the speed of light, it seems, and partly because I've always enjoyed being around them.  They seemed to know so much.  Not as much now as before, unfortunately.  That's mainly because as I approach their age, I'm catching up a bit.  One thing I've noticed is that as you get older, you don't create as much.  Part of that is that you tired more easily, and the big part is that the fire is gone.  When you're young, you not only have a lot of energy, you have a real desire to go out and make a difference.  Not so much for older people.  They've made all the mark they're going to make, and are usually just cruising.  That's not to say that older people just give up, because they don't.  Mostly it's that their creative endeavors are a lot more studied.  They think about what they're going to do before they jump in.  That can make a huge difference, and it can also kill a project in a heartbeat.  I know I've sat back and looked at something and decided that it just wasn't worth the effort it would take to do it.  Anyway, I named this one Create.

To Create

To create, to make something
  that never existed
Maybe a new thing or just
  a new way of seeing the old

A painting or a pot
  or a painting of a pot
Something new!
  We love it!

It's probably why we have no use
  for older people
They've been there, done that
  already seen it all

Except they haven't
  they couldn't
They were too busy
  being alive

They have seen a lot
  and already know
But nobody listens
  so we go that way again

The really new is built on the old
  that which existed before
Nostalgia still sells
  better than art

Old people can teach us
  but we have no time to learn
We're too busy
  repeating the same old mistakes

c. 2011 C. Thames

Happy Monday!

Aarrrggghhh!  Typing up some poetry while listening to country music!  I got up way too early this morning, and I'm trying to get some stuff done before I crash again.  I have been carrying a notebook to jot down some lines when they hit me, or that's the idea.  Part of it is that if I have the notebook I feel somewhat obligated to write in it.  Some of the stuff is okay and some of it is just silly.  This one is pretty silly.

Hope for Half

Chasing words across a page
  finding the ones that fit
The perfect ones that suit the stage
  words of wisdom or words of wit?

C. 2011 C. Thames

This is a bit of a take-off on Mark Twain.  He commented once that, "The man who thinks himself a wit is usually half-right."  Great line, IMHO.   I did another one that hits me as silly.  I have decided not to try to judge them, so you're going to get the bad with the good.  You can sort that one out for yourselves.

Fourteen

The number came up just now
  it doesn't mean anything
One more than the one below
  one less than the one above

It has to stand for something
  numbers always do
they mean something real
  they're not like the rest of us

Except this one
  out of the blue
It presented itself
  it just is

c. 2011 C. Thames

Back again.

I can't believe it's been as long as it has.  I started this blog to make myself write more, and in a way, it's working.  I'm just not writing here.  That may continue, but I'll try to be a bit more disciplined about putting stuff up here.  I've been working on a series of poems that's not really a series.  I've started carrying a notebook with me again, and when I'm sitting around waiting on something, I've been trying to write.  I say trying because it doesn't come like it used to come.  That was after the antidepressants.  That's been several years now, but the effects linger on.  I really understand Hemmingway now.  He had shock treatments for depression and lost a good bit of his ability to write as a result.  Because of that, he tried to walk into the propeller blades of an airplane.  He was prevented from doing that, but he eventually did succeed in killing himself.  Looking back through our literary history, too many poets have died by their own hand.  I'm in no danger of doing that, but I do understand the loss they went through.  For me, it's more of a sense of helplessness than hopelessness.  I know what I want to write, but the words aren't coming like they used to. I blame the meds when it might be a simple case of writer's block.  I don't know.  I have never really had a problem with writer's block before.  For me, it's always been a matter of having too many ideas than not having enough.  I can still crank it out, but it's a lot more work now than it used to be.  I do have some distractions working now.  School is a big one.  I'm trying to get credentialed (is that a word?) so I can do what comes naturally to me.  Go through the motions, get the box checked off, and get back to work, right?  Anyway, this one resulted from some musings on that.

To Study

To learn, to increase one's knowledge
for a specific end
Or not. Mostly out of curiosity
because I just didn't know

Half-prepared usually
for the task at hand
Half-asleep, semi-conscious
but only on schedule

Class time is nap time
odd how that happens
Search time is my time
when I just want to look it up

Nothing due -- no assignment
just what I want to know
Seems it's a lot easier to remember
than the stuff on the test

c. 2011 C. Thames

Recurring Themes

I've noticed a lot of recurring themes lately.  It's not that they haven't always been there, it's just that I'm starting to notice them more.  It seems like I'm seeing a lot about mirrors, and reflections in general, mostly with light on water.  We all see them, but don't think about them that much.  This one touches on that theme again.  I'm trying to decide if I want to drop the whole idea of mirrors, and reflections, but like I said, they keep coming up, and they do serve.  Maybe I should be looking into the underlying whatever?  Anyway, here's another one.

You

When you're not here my mirror is empty

There is light shining back

but nothing else that matters

Hope

lies in the background next to the couch

between it and the floor lamp

where you dropped my little bag of dreams

Forgot

the bag and took the dreams with you

I put some books on top of the bag

so I wouldn't have to see it all the time

Knowing

it's there but it really doesn't matter

smash it flat with enough books

you can ignore its existence

Time

passes, slowly but still

like a moon on calm water

shining brightly but not really there

Copyright 2010 Carl Thames

Rain

Rain happens, if we're lucky.  For too many this year, there hasn't been enough.  For others, in the path of the various hurricanes, there has been too much.  At least too much at once.  We need it, but we need it to be spread out.  Another thing I've noticed is the lack of the gentle summer showers.  It seems now it's always thunder and lightening.  I remember back when, a shower would roll through and we could sit back and enjoy it, and it would rain for an hour or so and then stop.  Now when it blows through you have to worry about it taking the roof with it.  Everything changes, eh?  Well, it appears to change.  That's what the poem today is about, actually.  Rain that keeps coming, literally.

The rain

The rain has been falling for two days now
it is tired
It has been falling for an eternity
hit the ground, evaporate, hit the ground

If you think about the cycles
it's no wonder 
rain makes people feel down
it is, why shouldn't we?


Copyright 2010 Carl Thames

Been busy.

For the past week or so, I've been going through some published poets and writing down the great lines I'm finding in them.  Hopefully, they will nudge me toward writing more of my own.  The main poet I'm reading right now is Mark Strand.  I sincerely recommend him.  He was Poet Laureate for a year, and has won the Pulitzer.  Good stuff.  Well, back to it.  I've only got two books to go before I stop copying and start writing....

A short one

Today's poem is short, but I like it anyway.  Rather than comment, I'm just going to post and go back to what I was doing before.  (I realize I'm slacking big time, but I never intended this blog to be a job, so I won't feel guilty about it.  It's not like there is a deadline, or even hoard of people waiting to read it anyway.)

Desire

The nature of desire
is like the nature of fire
it flames much too fast
to ever really last


Copyright 2010 Carl Thames

Tendencies

Okay, I haven't posted for a couple of days.  I've been thinking about it a lot, but just haven't done it.  Part of that reason is that I'm spending some time reading poetry.  I have several books by Mark Strand.  He was a Poet Laureate of the U.S. for a year, and has won a Pulitzer.  I'm going through the books and actually writing down some of the lines that really strike me.  He has at least one per poem.  To me, he "gets" it.  He's not pastoral at all, no sweeping vistas, etc.  He's more internally focused, which I guess is what I am.  I've read back over what I've posted so far, and noticed that much of it is pretty dark stuff.  I don't want to write dark stuff, but that's what tends to come out.  It's not that I don't want to deal with it, because we all have to deal with the shadows along with the rest, but I'm not sure that's what other people want to read.  I know it helps sometimes to realize that I'm not the only one with somewhat morbid thoughts, but I don't want to drag someone down further than they already are.  I've been thinking about that for the past several days.  I'm going to try to be a bit more upbeat, but no promises.  Today's poem isn't all that upbeat, but here it is.  Reading it again, it speaks more to the process, I think.  Where the ideas come from, and how to dig them out.  It's not that ideas aren't easy, because they just happen.  The problem comes in when you try to express them in a coherent way.  You want to capture the central idea while presenting it in a manner that's understandable to a reader.  I know what I want to say, but I'm rarely sure that the way I say it makes sense to anyone else.  I guess I'll just have to see if anyone gets it.

Scrounging words

Scrounging words out of a mind
that has been strip-mined
down to the bedrock
with nothing left

call in the hammers
and the hard rock miners
there has to be more there
it can't all be gone

What's beneath the rock
that lies in layer upon layer
the dead from so long ago
that even it's name has forgotten

what's under the rock
under the bottom layer
so far down it doesn't remember
that there's a sky up there

go down far enough
and maybe you reach the fire
the fire in the middle
is there enough reach?


Copyright 2010 C. Thames

Two Haiku

Hey, I told you I get into a weird mood now and then.  Occassionally, that comes out as Haiku.  Not very often, because the form is difficult, if you do it right.  It's not just the right number of beats per line, it's also the content of the poem itself.  To me, a good Haiku bends back upon itself, and convey a lot of meaning in three apparently simple lines.  I think I managed it with these two, but you can make up your own mind about that.

Two Haiku

Breathtaking beauty
beheld in a passing glance
once captured is lost



knowing heartbreak
memory of beginning
melancholy bliss