I want there to be poetry in me again–
I sit here poking at the ashes of my whimsy
turning one charred bit at a time, searching in vain for a glowing ember–
for that glimpse of orange amongst chalky white
that might be coaxed in to flame
or at least pressed in to paper or flesh
to singe and burn.
It seems my powers of poetry should have increased with the passing of these years–
watching this child I bore meet the world
watching her eyes flash as the universe unfolds before her
surely there is no better muse.
And yet…
here I sit, poetic as a stone,
no whimsy or insight wending its way through me
on to a page.
My bippity boppity boo is gone–
the majestic vehicle that could have been
sits
a lump of orange, organic, unchanged
gourd of my uninspiration.
cheezwizlizbiz | 11-Aug-06 at 9:59 am | Permalink
That’s beautiful. And I understand.
timwylie | 21-Aug-06 at 10:57 am | Permalink
i like it. but i must confess, i’ve read it before.
dchalenburg | 21-Aug-06 at 9:48 pm | Permalink
You don’t give yourself enough credit.
dave
sweet_n_lo | 11-Sep-06 at 12:30 am | Permalink
Girl…Oooo.
GentleMama2Mine | 23-Sep-06 at 5:09 am | Permalink
Lovely! I also understand.