Poem linking the nueonces of writing with the simplicity and longing to be with nature |
Its Wednesday feeling like Friday. One in the morning feeling like three. Slivers of dew have dried onto pages of warm yesterdays on the window, and I feel another warm day coming. Today’s flow of words hint another walk over smooth rocks that not all look alike but are. Ebbs of adjectives wish to play hide and seek but nouns stand firm on pebbles playing king; while verbs wade with weak ankles in ponds of syllables. Rhyme and Meter trace yesterday’s dew drops....keeping company with a see-through past of fragile words frozen on the window sill as if to catch them.... to save their dismal futures from failing. I fish in the creek and hide behind a tree mistaking it for one of knowledge. I too am translucent. Meter or Rhyme do not see me or my fragile words dulled by the murmur of yesterday’s syllables. “Here. I am here. Can’t you see me?” I want the privilege to stand as a king on the pebble in a slow moving stream but my words are lost to the dull murmur of yesterday’s syllables. Wanting to be found a fly fisher with a crate of culerful lures, Nouns of new meaning, Verbs with wings, I catch nothing. Nothing. Time seeming to fly by itself not needing me or the fish to give it respectability. Occasionally I pluck a new lure, today Jasmine, praying its savor will waken hungry ears and rest on impeccable tongues. Jasmine. Will it be fodder, a part of speech conveying a plot.... or nothing but another sweet smelling rambling vine? Heaven forbid. My heart of stone is no longer a heart but a pebble in a creek being stood upon by a captor of words whose ankles diappear when the snow melts and the earth welcomes another Wendesday morning when pages of dew paint new pictures of old people upon glassy windows creating a scrapbook of fish scales resembling someone we think we know. |