I intend to post the occasional poem to this blog. So that it is easy to distinguish the poems from the ordinary (weekly) posts I will prefix the title with the warning “POETRY.”. What follows is my first such post.
===========================
The words come easily or they don’t.
The concepts come simply or they don’t.
If they don’t, there is nothing that you can do.
If they do, you just go with it.
They flow on to the paper or they don’t.
The words hold all the aces.
The words come easily or they don’t.
The concepts come simply or they don’t.
I’ve tried a few times to force it, but it doesn’t work.
I read the words back and they don’t talk to me.
They don’t mean a thing.
When I write prose it seems easier.
I lay the words down and one follows the other,
There seems to be less pressure somehow,
Though they lead me where they want to go,
Which is often into strange lands.
A poem is a song without a melody,
A thing of meter and rythm,
Though prose has its rythm too.
I only write poetry when I have to,
When something tells me to,
When something forces me to,
And almost never when I want to.
The words come easily or they don’t.
The concepts come simply or they don’t.
Prose and poetry both come from within,
But poetry seems to come from somewhere deeper.
My first guess is that there is more of “me” invested in it,
But prose also contains part of “me” too.
I’m bemused/confused by this thing called poetry that I do.
Me on the net 