At the start of March I decided to write a diary poem by writing a 4-line poem for each day of the month.
I find it a useful form to work with, especially alongside work and parenting commitments.
Even so, there have been days when I haven't felt like writing anything, and I have retained those 'empty days' as creative gaps in the poem and all that they suggest.
I hope that by the end of the month the poem will be a curious and honest snapshot of my creative process, as well as documenting the consistencies and inconsistencies of my inner life at a certain point in time.
Below are two extracts.
Days of March
Cycling home from work, I followed a pink grapefruit
rolling slowly down New England Road.
It kept reappearing from under the cars queueing at the lights.
Near the bottom of the hill I turned right, and lost sight of its progress.
Poor, persistent words, nibbling away at the inscrutability of human experience.
Being is inarticulate, pre-verbal. An Everest of indifference, Niagara of bliss.
This morning, I was struck speechless by spring sunlight.
After six years of therapy, I realised: I don't know what I am talking about.