On March 23rd, I noted in my journal that my poems always tended to be optimistic – that even if they started low, they would bounce up at the end like one of those weighted punch clowns.  I decided that that wasn’t a problem as long as optimism wasn’t one of my constraints – if they were doing that on their own without my forcing them in that direction.  Then, the very next day, I wrote a poem that didn’t bounce up at the end.  What was interesting to me was that I did – bounce up, I mean.  I felt absolutely exhilarated after posting that poem, and did, all day yesterday, as well.  My sense was that the joy came from the success of the poem at capturing a somewhat elusive feeling and thought pattern so exactly.

So I failed to write a poem yesterday.  I realized that perhaps I had to reset the bar, and not try to capture anything particularly profound (after all, I hadn’t tried to before, even when I felt I succeeded).  

Having done so, and turning honestly once again to what’s at hand, I came upon a topic that my husband and I have both been thinking about, in our different ways, of late.  The wondering why we do what we do, the shifting of thought towards a different sphere:

In weary sameness once again you slide your tray

past each seductive offering in the display

of nothing that could satisfy the gap within

your plate still empty as you reach the end

So is this why we choose to die – we lack

the bright desire to keep us coming back?

We could go on, but wonder what’s the use

(the reasons, glorious before, now seem obtuse)

Or is there more than what is offered here

a way to focus thought between the things

to listen with a more celestial ear

for strains beyond what the commercials sing?

 – Seek substance in a different kind of sphere

and find the joy that strong connection brings.