Thursday,
Yes, I'm back with LOTS of new poetry. Sorry that I've been away. But I am back now nd I do have quite a few new poems. Started reading my work in public. Did it once at least about two weeks ago. Not sure how it went over. Very young crowd. But I am going back . . . better rehearsed than the first time. Anyway, here's something new.
Knots
Unraveling the thick knots
that thinking often creates.
A mess to clean-up.
Even thicker fingers don’t help,
they often add to the confusion,
to the menial task of sorting things out,
what to keep, what not.
A bitter crow will bite the hand
that tries to pet it. But an old thought
will knife you . . . if given the chance.
Better to wad it all up, all of it,
toss it overhand, watch it sail
across the room . . . more than likely
missing the stoic garbage can,
smacking it's misshapen head
against the bland kitchen wall.
I should do something festive
with that wall. One of those
kitty cat clocks with the big black eyes,
and the blacker tall that swishes
the seconds away as they slowly,
lazily beat the night down.
I don’t understand 3:15
in the morning, not a bit.
It’s a ponderous time of day,
a laborer working at a job it hates.
rrw o2-o5-14
Yes, I'm back with LOTS of new poetry. Sorry that I've been away. But I am back now nd I do have quite a few new poems. Started reading my work in public. Did it once at least about two weeks ago. Not sure how it went over. Very young crowd. But I am going back . . . better rehearsed than the first time. Anyway, here's something new.
Knots
Unraveling the thick knots
that thinking often creates.
A mess to clean-up.
Even thicker fingers don’t help,
they often add to the confusion,
to the menial task of sorting things out,
what to keep, what not.
A bitter crow will bite the hand
that tries to pet it. But an old thought
will knife you . . . if given the chance.
Better to wad it all up, all of it,
toss it overhand, watch it sail
across the room . . . more than likely
missing the stoic garbage can,
smacking it's misshapen head
against the bland kitchen wall.
I should do something festive
with that wall. One of those
kitty cat clocks with the big black eyes,
and the blacker tall that swishes
the seconds away as they slowly,
lazily beat the night down.
I don’t understand 3:15
in the morning, not a bit.
It’s a ponderous time of day,
a laborer working at a job it hates.
rrw o2-o5-14
