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(Created page with "For our RWR course with Natasha, we did our first free writing. We first read 'Questions for poets' by Anne Boyer. Who are you as a poet today? And what are your trials? '''Free writing #1''' "And what is the trial for the poet of the today, who knows that in the end each poem of the longest table is only as an infant's first word?" As the wind blows ,may I follow your knowledge, into the infinit...")
 
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Who are you as a poet today? And what are your trials?  
Who are you as a poet today? And what are your trials?  


=== '''Free writing #1''' ===
"And what is the trial for the poet of the today, who knows that in the end each poem of the longest table is only as an infant's first word?"


'''Free writing #1'''
As the wind blows


"And what is the trial for the poet of the today, who knows that in the end each poem of the longest table is only as an infant's first word?"
,may I follow your knowledge,                                                  into the infinity of the end.


As the wind blows
                ,may I follow your knowledge,
                                                      into the infinity of the end.


I will birth your child.
I will birth your child. You hold my pen.
You hold my pen.
In these bedroom timeframes.
In these bedroom timeframes.


May it move you
May it move you May it breathe you May it be you
May it breath you
 
May it be you
These millions of questions might never be answered. 
 
So, we are willing to wait for                                              what will never appear to be.


These millions of questions might never be answered.
              So we are willing to wait for
                                                what will never appear to be.


So we try to keep on birthing.
So, we try to keep on birthing. To find that critical answer. That will be followed with the after birth. That is shaped into the next question.
To find that critical answer.
That will be followed with the after birth.
That is shaped into the next question.


                                                    We started crying as young children.
                                                                        As frustration was our bully.
                                                            Till pressure became our water intake.


So I kept on writing the unlimitedness of words.
We started crying as young children.          As frustration was our bully.          Until pressure became our hydration.
 
 
I kept on writing, the endlessness of words.
 
Written by someone who is not me.
Written by someone who is not me.
                                            Making invisible mistakes,  
 
                                                                  cached by the eyes of society.
 
 
Making invisible mistakes,                                                     cached by the eyes of society.


All my infants became unbearable.
All my infants became unbearable.
      All my pencils were lost.
 
All my pencils were lost.
 
All my words are forgotten.
All my words are forgotten.




Many can understand the words that were born in this ocean of infants. Where I lost my voice.
 
My words were taken by the judge that read in its own physical way.
Many can understand the words that were born in this ocean of infants.
Forgotten that most of the time passed because we can only deliver in society's way.  
 
Where I lost my voice.  
 
My words were taken by the judge, who reads in its own physical way.  
 
Forgotten that most of the time passes because we can only deliver in society's way.  


So now I closed my delivery room and opened an adoption clinic.
So now I closed my delivery room and opened an adoption clinic.
As I feel unmothered by my own writing.
 
As I feel disinherited by my own writing.

Latest revision as of 16:47, 16 November 2022

For our RWR course with Natasha, we did our first free writing. We first read 'Questions for poets' by Anne Boyer. Who are you as a poet today? And what are your trials?

Free writing #1

"And what is the trial for the poet of the today, who knows that in the end each poem of the longest table is only as an infant's first word?"

As the wind blows

,may I follow your knowledge, into the infinity of the end.


I will birth your child. You hold my pen. In these bedroom timeframes.

May it move you May it breathe you May it be you

These millions of questions might never be answered.

So, we are willing to wait for what will never appear to be.


So, we try to keep on birthing. To find that critical answer. That will be followed with the after birth. That is shaped into the next question.


We started crying as young children. As frustration was our bully. Until pressure became our hydration.


I kept on writing, the endlessness of words.

Written by someone who is not me.


Making invisible mistakes, cached by the eyes of society.

All my infants became unbearable.

All my pencils were lost.

All my words are forgotten.


Many can understand the words that were born in this ocean of infants.

Where I lost my voice.

My words were taken by the judge, who reads in its own physical way.

Forgotten that most of the time passes because we can only deliver in society's way.

So now I closed my delivery room and opened an adoption clinic.

As I feel disinherited by my own writing.