It was a day.
Nothing big,
Nothing lost,
Nothing major,
Nothing special.
Just another day;
The sun shone,
The earth moved,
Just another day.
It was a day.
Nothing was special.
No superfluous similes.
No grandiose spectacle.
No dextrous metaphors.
Just passive verse in a passive tense
© Emilie C. Black, Apr 2020
It’s day three, I’m a day behind, it’s late, I’m tired, poetry is hard.
100 days, 100 questions, 100 answers as poems.
102 days ago, I would’ve said “that’s impossible!” But here we are. And I’m a mix of emotions about it. Pride, accomplished, relieved, astonished (I honestly thought I’d give up after day ten) but also… I’m not completely satisfied.
I’m proud of dedicating myself and finishing the challenge, and there is a lot of work that I’m proud of. But there’s definitely some poems in there that didn’t turn out how I wanted them to or I was just generally not happy with.
I think there’s a lot of material that has potential and there’s some I may rewrite entirely, but right now, I’m all poemed out and could use a wee break.
So, if you’re interested, all of this year’s poems can be found here, please feel free to peruse. The future is on it’s way and it involves videos and more new writing. If you have any questions or want a chat, hit me up.
Huge, special thank yous belong to my friend Dave, who has been a very dedicated and supportive friend (he wrote these out in a book! It was the best birthday present ever!) and finally to Michael Clark who has contributed around 12-15 percent of these questions! Thank you both so, so much.
And finally, I’d like to say a huge thank you to all of you. The readers, the questioners, without you, I wouldn’t have gotten to this. Thank you for your love and support.
I’ll be back soon with more poems, posts and gig updates!
I don’t really know why
I do what or do or why
I put myself through this
One hundred day quest
To write poetry.
And even though
Some of it wasn’t my best,
I can say I put
Myself to the test
And passed and
A hundred poems can
Attest to that.
But you see,
This was something
I never thought I could do,
And when I said
“I write poetry”
I felt I had to prove
Something to myself
And to others because
I didn’t get a BA or Honours
In English or Literature
Or something relevant to this.
I worked my way from the bottom,
Primitively stringing as many
Words together as possible and
Aiming for the stars but
Preparing to miss.
But on the way down
I found some catharsis.
And a million different
Ways to play with words.
I found my life’s
Meaning and definition
In a thesaurus and dictionary
And found my voice
Through trial and error.
And now I can say
The things I want to say
The things I need to say
The things I didn’t know how to say
The things I didn’t know I wanted to say
In a way that let’s my
Incoherent and bipolar mind
Sound somewhat like it’s sane.
You and I have both found
Ourselves asking why I
Chose to go down this path.
I’ve asked myself this question
A hundred times in
A hundred ways and
I’ve arrived at
A hundred different answers
That twist and bend and
Find their way back to
This place.
This place where
I’ve not found myself but
I know I’m getting warmer.
This place where
I know I’m going to keep looking.
I know I’m around here somewhere.
Over two-hundred
From the world and internet,
And friends and strangers.
I have enough for
Two and a half challenges
But it’s not enough.
I don’t plan to stop
So when it comes to questions,
Never stop asking.
Question from Peter G from Facebook
Mxcellany - Poetry, Music, Art 