Friday, September 20, 2013

Open-Ended Poetry

An interesting thing has happened to me just a couple of times while writing. I will be working on a particular piece, then get to a point of seeming writers' block. I don't know how to continue or how to tie it off, so I leave it for a while and eventually come back to it. Now that, non-existent readers, is not uncommon at all. I could publish volumes of half-written poems and impactful lines! The interesting thing that has happened just twice is coming back to one of those half-written poems and realizing that I had already finished it without even realizing. Here I present those two:

[The Poem I Cannot Write]
Hand on pen, pen on paper
But words come like rain in a drought.
I am thirsty.

This verse, so simple yet elusive,
Burns in my heart each day.
I see it in the sunset,
Feel it in the warm embrace of a child,
Hear it in the whispering wind.
But to write it...

With a sigh, I lay down my pen
Leaving but two words behind:
Beauty. Gratitude.

[Breaking Free]
A long, dark vertical tunnel
High above which shines the sun
Whose rays pour through the opening
And run down the cold and grimy sides
Like the mocking drip... drip... drip.
Of an empty faucet on the hottest, driest day.

A long, dark vertical tunnel
At the bottom of which I find myself.
I dropped my heart down here a couple months ago
But, funny, though I fell in reaching for it,
We never did cross paths on the way down.