I want to write a poem
Posted: August 4th, 2015, 5:48 pm
I want to write a poem that moans and weeps,
creeps itself beneath the surface of your skin,
begins in the middle of something completely
unexpected, resurrects the purpose of a breath,
and when the poem comes, death becomes a revision
with each additional image, each additional line,
inhales and exhales are granted permission to continue
with the rise and fall of a breastbone, each word coming
and becoming again. The poem I want to write will have
no end, lyrics drifting into what you thought would
be a void but what isn't at all, full to overflowing,
the call of a living mantra as decibels electronically vibrate
the warm sticky blood that flows through your veins.
The poem I want to write awaits the same way a man
will wait for a woman to come and the exact way a woman
lounges on the veranda while she stares at her cell phone
clock, each stanza walking in one step then the next, texts
being ignored as she pours herself a drink, thinks it
might be him who'll call next. This is how a poem can
arrive, not all at once but with bit-by-bit relief, as it teases
its way into a moment without warning and this is the poem
I want to write, one that seizes an empty night and lights a
fire in the pit of your sternum. I want to write a poem that
unbuckles Orion's Belt, starlight forming a halo around
his head.
......
I wrote this in January 2015 in response to a challenge/prompt on another site.
creeps itself beneath the surface of your skin,
begins in the middle of something completely
unexpected, resurrects the purpose of a breath,
and when the poem comes, death becomes a revision
with each additional image, each additional line,
inhales and exhales are granted permission to continue
with the rise and fall of a breastbone, each word coming
and becoming again. The poem I want to write will have
no end, lyrics drifting into what you thought would
be a void but what isn't at all, full to overflowing,
the call of a living mantra as decibels electronically vibrate
the warm sticky blood that flows through your veins.
The poem I want to write awaits the same way a man
will wait for a woman to come and the exact way a woman
lounges on the veranda while she stares at her cell phone
clock, each stanza walking in one step then the next, texts
being ignored as she pours herself a drink, thinks it
might be him who'll call next. This is how a poem can
arrive, not all at once but with bit-by-bit relief, as it teases
its way into a moment without warning and this is the poem
I want to write, one that seizes an empty night and lights a
fire in the pit of your sternum. I want to write a poem that
unbuckles Orion's Belt, starlight forming a halo around
his head.
......
I wrote this in January 2015 in response to a challenge/prompt on another site.