Sometimes I need to start my day with a poem. Habit
like a cup of coffee, brushing teeth, taking medication.
I don't feel all there until I have written a poem.
I do not know if I have any focused concentration or any diligent focus.
I do not know if I am even awake yet until I have written a poem.
Am I even awake? Or still swimming and muddling and searching through last night's
dreams? But I don't even know what I dreamt about.
So I feel so stupid, and clouded, and hazy.
I feel so foggy even though the sun is rising and
shedding light on the flowers and the fountains and the plants and the trees
and the pools and the palm trees and the gates and the columns.
Day is everywhere. The bank is making operations and calculations.
Phone calls are being answered here and there. But I am not quite up
and I am more like those who are not answering their phones than
those who are. I am gone. I am out of town. I am in another world, until
I come down to earth by writing a poem. I then have had enough of my
fantasy life and my complex cognition. I have had enough rising on the
creation of the universe and what it means. I have had enough. I think I
am just about to be up and getting things completed. I think I am just
about to follow through on what it is I have to do. It takes some positioning
and some acumen. I have to train this brain into action again. I have to
be done with writing this poem and on to other things to make my day.
Sometimes the urge to write a poem becomes an obsession......! Sometimes it makes us even crazy, unable to focus on anything else! Once a poem is born, we feel the relief of a mother just given birth to a baby who has been in labour for hours. Finely articulated!
Writing a poem the neurons connect from our neck. to...or words, they are; O heck! On waking, I understand the need.
Well, I didn't begin a rhyming poem about it. But it sounds like there's a good one in there with the neck and heck and maybe in addition to writing a poem, I need Ben Affleck!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poetry plays an important role in your psychic economy. By expressing your contemplative side, it serves as a prelude to the day's functional activities, Although it seems non-functional, it ends up serving a purpose too. When poetic thoughts lift me, I too enjoy contemplating big, impractical questions. How is the cosmos being created? Why are there two sexes?