About writing, jealousy, Sugar and poetry.

First go read this post by Sugar at the Rumpus. If you don’t already read her weekly, you need to fix that.

I too have been known to have those moments of extreme angry jealousy. Hot faced, teary eyed angry self righteous jealousy. It happens. Most of the time I can grit my teeth, take a breath and work it out. Sometimes I feel like I need to just sit in that until I figure out what my problem is.

Sometimes the problem is snobbery on my part. Sometimes it’s my frequent outsider feeling.

For instance. I was reading some lit zine or other and the editor had a thingy in it going on and on and ON and on and on about his (her?) MFA things. The studies, the students all the wonderful works from them and not so much the proletariat other submitters. His his/her view the non MFA submissions (and it was required in the publications guidelines to state if you are currently in an MFA program.

Blablabla..I fumed and sat by myself freaking out. For reference I’m not formally educated. I am 34 years old and have a high school diploma. I have no interest in going back to school in America. None at all, it’s just not for me at this point. But oh I was jealous.

Jealous because yes while I understand that an MFA is all the things, life outside of that circle is also all the things.

So it happens. I only feel like this jealousy is a huge deal if I can’t get over it or if I’m tempted to be mean on a personal level to someone which is not cool at all.

Now under the fold there are some poems to celebrate National Poem Month. All pulled from the chapbook that I never sent around because it was frankly not all that good.

Pomes…Pomefone is offline.

I should also note that a lot of these are from a time when I thought that every word I wrote had to be golden and fit for publication or I’d somehow be failing. I’ve since gotten over that.

She sang a dark love song.
Stood alone in the face of the storm.
A lone voice battling the wings.
Raging, screaming into me.
I learned to be insignificant.
I learned to be unseen.
I learned to hold my tears.
I learned these things well.
Grew from a silently suffering girl child.
To a silent steel eyed woman.
Hurt me again I can take it.
My heart is ice and the pain is snow.
I will never burn for you.
My tears were squandered.
Shed for death and the plight of another.
I have none for myself.
Even when it is all too much…my tears are not mine.
It’s the ghost of you I hate.
Mute and staring.
Your silence burns me.
Leaves me bare and broken.
Leave me spirit I will not speak your name.
I’ll never mourn what could have been.
Only what was.
What could have been was beautiful
What was is still a poisoned miasma of nothing.
I will not mourn what could have been.
Never begin a poem with I remember.
Because I don’t.
I don’t remember the look on your face.
I don’t remember the tears soaked into my shirt.
I’ll never begin a poem with I remember-
lest I finally forget.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s