We write about what we know,
we write the way we know how to,
the way it always worked before.
It’s sloppy, the words come out
in patched old jeans, guffy trainers,
written in the comfy chair of forms
that don’t stretch, subjects
covered already, ad nauseam,
and all the water-worn tricks
of syntax, syllable, sounds,
the ‘rule of three’, and at all costs
avoid the participle.
It’s no longer enough: I’m bored
with the old ways, and too unsure
to bungee-jump the new.
Tonight I dusted off this poem I wrote last year, to see if I still feel the same as when I wrote it. I don’t think I do. I know I made a conscious effort last year to tackle new subjects, and to dump some of my writing cliches (we’ve all got them, brothers and sisters). Although my output maybe wasn’t as high as in some previous years, I think I’m happier with what I did write. And several of the new poems have been published. It’s maybe not bungee-jumping yet, but I’ve started collecting rubber bands.