The Promise

I made the promise to myself, and here I am breaking it. What kind of ethical dilemma is it that compels me to do the one literary thing I told myself I'd never do -- compose poetry in public. But it's NaPoWriMo, the versifier's month of madness, and I have so much to do today that the only time I have this morning to myself has to shared with you.

It's what you do when you rise from the bed
that becomes really interesting -- the way you cover
up or don't, the first want
after the dissipated tidal wave.
Is it toast or car keys in your hand?
Or simply to stare
at a hummingbird's manic stasis, a green
bud dawn-tinged, dividing with unseen wings
the total past from the day ahead,
and its vast flock of decisions.
It's what you say with the water
running, the words that waterfall away
unheard that will determine the shape
of this morning as it fleshes
over the years into the body of memory.

I was looking for a site to include in this post, a site where two poets compose on the same theme in a 15-minute period, and we can see their progress as they develop their poems, the words adding themselves, the strike-outs and ongoing revisions. Does anyone know the name of this marvelous site, and has it disappeared? What a shame. A daring idea. Maybe not enough famous poets wanted the exposure.