there is the particular palette of April's end
pear-green unfurling slow and now
wound of hyacinth patched here
and there pubic grasses coaxed
as branches, heavy umbilical blush
endure these days, then gone,
a snow of vessels burst
Neither do I my dear, neither do I. I haven't written anything new in months and don't know if I shall ever resume. And I don't really care. Ha! I did really like this piece of yours because it seemed informal and dreamy. By informal I mean very free or, at least unbound by a sense of 'trying to write poetry'. By dreamy I meant 'the words washed over me like a wave'.
I often think that I will not resume either, but then I do. I truly hope you will as well.
All I really want is to express what I see and what the vision makes me feel, not necessarily "write poetry." If I can do this, I am very satisfied, though I don't think it is possible to express anything fully.
5 comments:
this has a nice haiku-like feel to it. i had to read a couple of times before i was able to convince myself that it contained no typos. ;-)
Thanks, Gerry. I don't know what the hell I'm doing most of the time.
Neither do I my dear, neither do I. I haven't written anything new in months and don't know if I shall ever resume. And I don't really care. Ha! I did really like this piece of yours because it seemed informal and dreamy. By informal I mean very free or, at least unbound by a sense of 'trying to write poetry'. By dreamy I meant 'the words washed over me like a wave'.
I often think that I will not resume either, but then I do. I truly hope you will as well.
All I really want is to express what I see and what the vision makes me feel, not necessarily "write poetry." If I can do this, I am very satisfied, though I don't think it is possible to express anything fully.
Agreed. "Every attempt is another kind of failure". I usually write right after deciding to never write again. Ha!
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