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how poetry asserts itself

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (17)

Image of cute little boy launch paper ship on the lake in the park. Adorable kid boy playing with a boat. Curious child sailing a toy boat by the waters’ edge outdoors. Childhood and ecology concept

he alludes to a poem as if others

know what he thinks about before he can

speak which in this case means before he can

think his thoughts being like Rube Goldberg

devices clacking along tripping springs and

traps which propel the odd idea along

tangential routes until finally falling

into its assigned slot and everything

stops and silence expands like waves of water

rippling across the surface of a lake

eventually lapping the far shore

where a small boy plays with a wooden boat

never once thinking about poetry

(January 23, 2020)

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Doubt

I do not know

what it is

I do,

nor if what I do

is possible:

a girl, in creative writing,

says she knows

nothing

about love. Yet,

she writes

a love poem;

so lovely,

so simple,

so honest,

that I believe

in possibility’s

incremental

transcendence

in that moment.

(December 2, 2019)

Ink Blot

What is here is there

only when it is here now–

the pen on the page

(September 30, 2019)

Without Clearly Marked Exits

A room carved

into his heart–

no door,

but a room

without a candle.

His heart

a hollow room

without a candle.

He desired a candle,

to watch it burn,

but there was no match,

or he would burn,

the world would burn,

the house would burn

into ash,

into ash,

into ash:

ash

and wind.

(June 20, 2019)

The Corners of the Mouth (providing nourishment)

from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress

I return again

and again to

gain small bits

of what she offers.

Often drunk

at her table,

I feed on

her infinite root.

Even as I am

changed, Poetry

absorbs the earth

and all upon it.

What part I am,

what part I have

become, rises

into her dance.

(March 6, 2019)

Peace

from “Change,” a work in progress

Other’s discontent wears

on me. No peace exists

as time’s delusions

divide all eternity.

(January 29,2019)

Waiting (nourishment)

from “Change” a work in progress

Too often, when I find time

to write, the clamor of the day

staggers about drunkenly,

muddling my thoughts. So,

I wait, go for a walk, cook.

Eventually all the falderal

falls away to silence;

and, I write again.

(January 22, 2019)