Per Christa's request, I'm posting the poem I wrote in the park yesterday as I waited for our writing meeting to start. It was such a nice day outside...I was sitting underneath a tree (don't know what kind...maple, maybe?) that was just starting to turn red from yellow. I was determined not to write about it, it was so beautiful! I wanted to see if I could focus on anything else!
I'm not feeling any creative inspiration today, probably because I haven't done much reading, but it's making me feel a little blue. Guess I'll go read?
IN THE PARK
I wish I wasn’t alone,
wish I couldn’t
see my shadow,
wish I could say wild dogs
were chasing me away.
I wish I could say
there was a book
in my hands
but I’m alone in the park
sitting on soggy grass
watching a hornet
crawl over its nest.
I wish I were a hornet
relatives packed around me
like clothes in a suitcase
but I am solitary
heavy in the mud
and just as ugly as
I can imagine.
I wish I were a squirrel
or a scarf
always running around myself
I wish I were a dirt path
or a harmonica
something people could use
This poem means
I am not winter
I am not frost or rain
I will always have a face and hands
and these two responsible arms
I will always be dying or dead
I will always be born
I will never be something as useful
as turbulence or teeth
or anything else that shines.
I'm not feeling any creative inspiration today, probably because I haven't done much reading, but it's making me feel a little blue. Guess I'll go read?
IN THE PARK
I wish I wasn’t alone,
wish I couldn’t
see my shadow,
wish I could say wild dogs
were chasing me away.
I wish I could say
there was a book
in my hands
but I’m alone in the park
sitting on soggy grass
watching a hornet
crawl over its nest.
I wish I were a hornet
relatives packed around me
like clothes in a suitcase
but I am solitary
heavy in the mud
and just as ugly as
I can imagine.
I wish I were a squirrel
or a scarf
always running around myself
I wish I were a dirt path
or a harmonica
something people could use
This poem means
I am not winter
I am not frost or rain
I will always have a face and hands
and these two responsible arms
I will always be dying or dead
I will always be born
I will never be something as useful
as turbulence or teeth
or anything else that shines.
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