I've got another poem I'm putting out there into the world, but if I'm transparent I have to say that I don't like it.
Let me explain...
I like it for what it is--a poem that I labored over and poured a lot of thought into. I'm still new to the art of poem crafting and have much to learn about this particular form of expression. Nonetheless, I like how this one came out both in wording and rhythm.
What I don't like about it is what it says about me. I began writing it after several long days last spring, and I used the poetic space to articulate how I was feeling at the time. That's what you're supposed to do as a poet, right?
When I read back over it later, however, I felt ashamed of myself. The difficult parts of my day that I talk about in the poem seem insignificant and silly compared to the struggles that others around me face each day. "Uneven sidewalks? Holes in the trash bag? Really, Andrew?
Some people don't have drinkable water, and you can't put up with a leaky trash liner?" I think to myself as I scan the lines in disdain.
The truth is that I am blessed and wealthy compared to most of the world's population. The struggles of a typical day for me are miles away from the difficult reality so many others have to accept each day. It is also true, however, that the only life I can fully experience and understand is my own. As an individual who is naturally curved inward toward my own interests, I will freely admit that I often allow the small frustrations I find nipping at my heels each day to distract me and steal my joy. It's not right, but it is where I am more often than not.
From that perspective, I guess the poem is a good one in that it accurately captures the experience and feelings of the poet at a specific moment in time.
Here it is...
When the Day Lies
by Andrew D. Doan
I put on a habit each morning
Like a nun who’s keeping her vows.
I wake up at the same time,
Roughly speaking.
I eat the same breakfast.
I revert to the same line of thinking.
This is the day
The Lord has made.
It’s new and clean and fresh.
Pristine.
Packed with promises.
Like the interior of a rental car
Idling at the airport curb.
I should learn from past experiences.
Reality often outweighs expectation.
Yet, despite my better judgment
—Or maybe because of it?—
I listen to the day’s whispered overtures
And offers of salvation.
“Today is the first day of…”
“Each moment is a gift.
That’s why it’s called the present.”
“A journey of a thousand miles begins…”
“This is the day
The Lord has made.
You WILL rejoice and be glad in it.”
Productivity.
Tasks completed.
An inbox that shrinks in the sunlight.
Clarity.
Outbursts of joy and laughter.
Moments of connection and calm.
Roots of nostalgia
Burrowing deeper into memory.
These are the breadcrumbs I find
Waiting for me at dawn.
But somewhere along the path
The day’s intentions give way
Under the weight of a life lived ordinarily.
Uneven sidewalks.
Holes in the trashcan liner.
Misinterpretation of motives.
Benefits of the doubt revoked.
The agreement is no longer valid.
The day’s potential has retreated
Like an old man hiding behind the curtain.
It’s hard not to feel cheated and betrayed,
Lied to or taken for a fool.
If the good days—
I mean the really good days—
Are scattered like bubbles on a bar of soap,
Then why do all the other ones
Overstate their abilities so brazenly?
They’re nothing more than campaign promises.
Satisfaction guaranteed
But you must not forget the fine print.
By evening, I tear off my habit
And throw it in the hamper.
Fool me once? Shame on you.
Fool me twice? Hardly!
I’m much smarter than that.
I’ve learned one of life’s most critical lessons.
The key to happiness is to lower your expectations.
Tomorrow?
Tomorrow.
Excellent question, my friend!
Tomorrow will be different, I assure you.
I won’t be snookered again.
And yet
When the new day opens its doors
Here I am!
Wishful and confident once more.
Don’t ask me to try and explain it.
Hope is an obstinate companion.