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no one is reading my poem today
no one is
going to comment
how many
lines
were
written just
now?
who has time
to read them?
do you think
a thing like that's going to stop me?
I love to be
lost in the stanzas
like this
standing
inside my own mirror
borne on the
wings of my very own song
to make a way
where the
grass is high
I won't say
behind enemy lines
but I'm
always bringing up fresh supplies
so many have
lost the faith
sometimes I'm
the only one fighting
no one knows
why I'm writing this down
or what these
words are for
no one is
reading my poem today
no one is
going to comment
can this be
called communication
If no one can
hear the notes I'm hitting?
how much
masterpiece lost this way
the bottom
drawer now is a pocket of sky
everyone carries one
we're all looking into it
but who's
there to understand my song?
I could
dedicate to the birds and the
bees
but they're
far from au
fait
spindrift
lovers won't give a toss
with
'in those arms I'm gonna stay'
no
one can keep up with me
the
chroniclers are
far
behind
in
fact they can hardly be bothered
critics
are this-minute minded
I
can't keep up with myself
still
I read over and over again
and
sometimes wonder why as well
and
what I'm on about
you
have to ask – what's wrong with him?
and
does he need special attention?
we all do
no one is
reading my poem today
no one is
going to comment
o this is a
great relief
it lets pour
on potential
blank
of the paper, blank of the screen
these
places can never be settled
such
is my view from Darien
my
own indigenous sea
what
a fertile field I plough
with
every crossing is Homeric
wine
dark I go where I can't know
but
that you're with me now
Oh yes they are - reading - and maybe even fighting in our own way :) Love the rhythm and even the despair.
ReplyDeleteHa. I love it, Kit.
ReplyDeleteMasterpieces lost, forgotten,
to-be-written, read, unread, and mourned.
Diminishing returns only wait for the tide to turn.
The consolations of the act.
ô yes! what a suffering! I sympathize with all my heart! And yet out of despair you write a nice poem... as a conclusion my father in law's words: "you artists need to feel bad for it's the fuel of creation...."
ReplyDeleteWell put I say
ReplyDeleteInto the fray
Today
Cut it out, of course we are, even in the wine dark blank paper.
ReplyDelete