it seems as though you FEEL too much
he said, after i’d complained – again – of some mild malady,
of a stomach pain, or an aching knee.
and i wonder if this is possible,
if some people just don’t notice
the little things.
is there a potion
or a lotion
or some trick of the mind
that will help me not to FEEL so much?
i am taking into consideration
the possibility
that me feeling
is really me wanting you
to feel me.
3.
they say the devil is in the details,
and there may be something to it
because the details for me, are missing
but so, thankfully, is the devil.
2.
i was a dulcimer doubter.
i saw the woman from the woods,
with the bird on her sweatshirt.
not the cool, etsy kind -
not a swallow or an owl,
but an ordinary cardinal
on an ordinary twig of needly pine
on an ordinary green crewneck
and i thought i was better than her.
but from her hands came beautiful music
and out of her mouth came a raspy, soulful crooning
and a song that conjured up memories so strong
it nearly made me cry.
and i was ashamed.
So, poems. This is a totally new thing for me! I wrote the following piece a few weeks ago, after a week of being extremely forgetful. I wrote another poem this weekend, and a theme became immediately clear – I was writing about my shortcomings.
I’d like to talk more (don’t I always?) about some of this, but I think it may be best for me to just let the poems speak for themselves. I think this project has real therapeutic potential for me, and I’m actually sort of looking forward to my next bout of negative self-talk, so I can turn it into something to share.
As for the project’s title, see the Wiki article for Omphaloskepsis
I’d love your feedback and thoughts, just keep in mind that I know next to nothing about poetry!
1.
[oftentimes] my train of thought makes unscheduled departures
and suddenly i snap to, discovering
that i am pushing an empty cart through the lighting department
while back in housewares mine sits, abandoned
heavy-laden with valuables
and the toothpaste, the throw pillows, and some batteries
and then later
i open the microwave door
to find last night’s peas
still waiting to be served.
i make lists, so i’ll remember things
but i forget about the lists.
my mind, overtaken by wanderlust
goes on ahead without me.