24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I can do this
No, you can’t
But I can
No, you can’t
I think I can
No, you can’t
I can
No, you can’t
Maybe I can’t
Of course you can’t
Maybe you’re right
Of course I am
I think I won’t do this
That is a wise decision
SHUT UP BRAIN!
I WILL DO IT!!!
Doubt is the beast beyond the door;
Just out of sight, but never out of earshot;
Gnawing and Grinning maniacally;
Doubt is the hound at our heels;
That spurs us forward;
To keep writing;
Even when body and soul demand a pause.
-30-
Balderdash. A penny saved
is not even a penny anymore. The
Canadians have stopped keeping them
in the cash register. North of the border,
they don’t even make them now.
So why do we cling so hard to our
Lincolns? Our town cars, our capitol
of Nebraska? We’ll be driving there,
later this morning, to see the original
of Breton’s painting, “The Song of
the Lark,” because it’s there, and we
wonder if it will look different, away
from Chicago. Nebraska’s bright copper Lincoln,
by any other name, would be Omaha, and
we can’t have that. They wouldn’t
know what to do on game day.
The rose garden would die, and the
sower on top of the capitol would
fall and break on the plaza, rather than
move to Omaha or Kansas City.
So yes, a penny saved means we keep
Lincoln free of suicide bombers and
global warming. Next year, and the next,
when the white pelicans and the sandhill
cranes fly over, on their way to the Platte,
let them find Lincoln as it’s always been,
worthy of our thoughts, our care, our kin.
Doubt swings his ax in midair
I duck just in time
Swings again and I feel my head
Roll across the room
I chase it down and hold it tight
I run
But Doubt is close behind
Laughing maniacally
“You will never do this”
He says
” Who do you think you are?”
I want to doubt him but he is Doubt
It’s hard to do
He is strong
He makes the rules
I try to break them
But I fail miserably
I am Doubt’s greatest student
I learned well and he knows my soft spots
I churn out waves of affirmations
But he cackles back
“You will fail!”
I choose not to believe him
And I run harder and faster
I trip over an insult
My head falls from my arms
Rolling faster and faster
He stops, picks it up and hands it to me
“You can have your head
But know I am inside
Always inside”
He walks away
I know he is right
I put my head back on, lower it in shame
Taking my seat with the rest of the class.
Look into the mirror
see yourself
who is that person
one with courage
emotions
ambitions
heart
pain
everything packed inside
but still going on
moving forward
like a soldier
irrespective of anything
you are strong
now take a pledge
won’t doubt yourself
ever!
My worst critic is myself.
Constantly looking at each action.
Asking if it was the right. Or
Could I have done it better?
Every hour under some misplaced
Scrutiny.
Everyday a inner battle of two.
A battle of one. A man and himself.
Screaming at each other.
Screaming doubt.
Do you ever get anything right?
Do you think you can do that?
Do you even believe in yourself?
God. I want to punch that critic in the face.
The poem The Bookmark by Graham Swift shows doubt memories. We know about the issue of screen and false memories in Freudian terms. The poetic persona remembers only in the end that the ticket left as a bookmark in a book was put there by himself after he imagines a whole story about it.
my memories
forgotten
turn
into fiction
My muse was dead
it seemed.
Or perhaps it was hibernating.
I thought perhaps it was dead
for it had been so long since
it had shown its beauty to me.
But then began the experiences
that awakened it…
loss, grief,
forgiveness, patience, grace,
limitless love,
understanding the depths of the human soul,
strength I never knew I possessed.
I also found my muse in
deep, strong friendship,
in gentle company,
in the gifts God has blessed me with.
My muse lives…
in the joy I feel from
those who love me.
Eve Remillard
6/14/2015
