NaPoWriMo/NaPoREADMo #10 — Following this noise

Following this noise

My wife chews 

on a crunchy cookie
	as she breathes 
		through her nose 
	next to me.

Our child turns 

a page in her journal and 
	sniffs on the futon in the studio,
		headphones playing music
	we cannot hear.

Our two friends
	on the couch and 
  		in the child’s borrowed bed, 
	both snore softly.

Traffic in the six lanes 

out front swishes and shushes 
	in the rain and occasionally 
		clump-umps on a 
	loose manhole cover. 

The washing machine 

and a jet overhead 
	in the night
		scream descendingly
	in a soft duet. 

Our new neighbors, 

still settling in, move about 
	upstairs, unsettling nothing, 
		while I lie here 
	about it all
		on such a quiet night.

Keepin' the "Po" in NaPoWriMo....

NaPoWriMo/NaPoREADMo #9 — Not the first time

Not the first time

I am reading a poem and realize, some 
lines into it, that I have been thinking 
of The Man in the High Castle, which 
I have just been watching, and I have 
not absorbed anything at all of the last 

four lines of the poem—like when you’re 
driving home and can’t remember the last 
four turns, the last few streets that you have 
driven on—and then I come back to the 
poem for a few lines but then I am taken

by the idea of writing a poem about this 
experience and its analogy to driving a 
regular route and not remembering how
one got somewhere, and again I realize 
that I have not been paying attention to 

the poem though I have still been reading 
it and I am struck by the thought that not
only can my body—my hands, arms, legs 
and head—be made to do something that 
I am apparently barely aware of, but that

one part of my mind can also apparently 
be made to do one thing (read a poem, for 
instance) that I am also barely aware of 
and cannot remember doing very well while 
another part of my mind is thinking about 

writing about this experience and yet another, 
third part has realized that these two things 
are happening and then, rather suddenly the 
charade is over, the wizard runs and hides. I 
don’t know precisely where I am and I’m not 

entirely certain any more just where I reside or 
if I remember the way and I put down the book, 
go to the keyboard and write this poem about 
reading (while also not reading) that other poem 
and here I am again, not knowing how I got home.

Keepin' the "Po" in NaPoWriMo....

NaPoWriMo, 2016, Day 4 (on Day 5)–As ever

(because I am, as ever, running behind...)
(this one is for Natalie--a continuation of a conversation
that I think we have been having for quite a while now...
that I am very glad we are still having...)

As ever

I am afraid (always) 
that I am never (ever)
as (un) self-aware as 
I think I am (not)
or ever was (not).

Quoets for Poets 5/6/13

“In taking the everyday details of life for granted, we fail to appreciate the extraordinary fact that we are conscious at all.”

—Stephen Batchelor


“That could almost be cited as the definition of a poet: someone who notices and is enormously taken by things that somebody else would walk by.”

—James Dickey