the waiting is the poem, listen more, speak less, pray when you need to, sometimes every morning when it is still & dark, stretch, read, meditate, swim in cold water, eat chocolate when you need to, remember -they are not thinking about you, breathe deeply near tall trees, let go & let god, love, love is all you need, repeat the words of dead singers, but give them credit (john lennon), cry when you need to, especially when you realize time goes by too fast, savor the moments, forgive yourself for using words like savor, be alone, but not lonely, create something, tell the truth, but not all the time.
Tag: Creativity
Writing To Another Poet
you once told me to- find my true north, thank you of course, & realistically we will never meet again, after all, it has already been over a decade, but chance encounters are most of life, then just memory, then nothing, or nothing that we know for sure, but i still appreciate you, sometimes read you, even watched a video once of you reading, describing jellyfish everywhere, unseen danger swimming all around, true, the sea, ocean, life, can be fear, but rarely here, on this page, screen, canvas, thanks again for your courage, i try to be like you.
Stream #3 or Borrowed
for some of you
know my method
my way of writing
is to take a line from
something i just read
for some of you
borrowed, now mine
how precious to
hold and do differently
this life, better than
the one before
and we all have had
a life
before, especially the
buddhists, hindus, and
believers in more than
football, beer
and sephora, the
surface shimmers, glimmers
with hope that the
veneer is real, but
for some of you
meaning, me, it is
thin ice
and i’ve already broken
through
into the cold water
SKETCHBOOK TOUR BY HUDSON POLK
HUDSON’S LATEST ART VIDEO!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2zcIWjS1yw
Hudson’s Latest Work
Intergalactic Sports by Hudson Polk
By Hudson Polk: Writer/Artist
On a typical evening we are side by side. He’s drawing or writing, and I’m reading or writing.
Why I Don’t Submit To Poetry Journals
i don’t get it, the poetry publishing thing, true, people definitely do read the new yorker, but does anyone really read radon journal? it’s a whole rigamarole, sending out poems with a bio, trying to figure out if the editors are interested, hoping for approval and acceptance, who cares? truly, many people know mary oliver or maya angelou, but do they know li-young lee? he’s an amazing poet, nobody knows him, nobody cares, the word obscure should follow almost anyone who names themself a poet, hi, i’m daniel, (obscure) poet, i watched a video posted in august with an inspiring poet from virginia, she read, she spoke about her life/work, it’s november, the video has like 17 views, obscure, anyway, the point, for me, is to write and self-publish, i need no approval, i think, this is an interesting piece, copy/paste/publish/done.
When Art Spoke
draw like a child, wild, carefree, place fingers on clay, wet with water, let the wheel shape, smooth, soothe away pain, i hang in galleries, oil colors, old wooden frames, they want to touch me, own me, be me, hold me forever, like a sunset, a sunflower, stars, constellations, my world is an inner universe, they go mad for me, seek to possess beauty and truth, they stare at me, just stare, as if i’m their mirror, and i am, looking back at them, from the past they see me, i am goya, picasso, matisse, van gogh, kahlo, o’keeffe, joan mitchell, betty woodman, they have paid for meals with sketches of me, teach me in classrooms, with crayons and paper, portraits on refrigerators, i matter more than taxes, money is eventually forgotten, me, i live forever.
September 22, 2023 or Writing Exercise #2
scroll, read, scroll, poem of the day, suzi garcia, her sentences are not quite for me, so i search for words, tulle, doyenne, melliflous, nothing connects, just esoteric ink on a screen, survey surroundings, dark parking garage, in the distance, corepower yoga next to scandinavian designs, sweat and furniture, both closed, friday night in san mateo, sitting because it hurts to walk, same old song, reminds me of motown music, the 60’s used to be yesterday, like dancing to the Four Tops at family parties, now motown is dirt, as in, old as, i’m less young too, new phase of life for sure, i’m the old guy waiting in the car, writing on my iphone, trying to tell the truth.
Daniel W. Polk 