Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Words and leftovers

With Spartan led tenacity
I call the words to line
and drill them in the moment;
draw forth their inner realm.
If everything has meaning,
then nothing can be left
and begs to find its meaning;
demands that it be led.
The poems so quickly gather,
in clutterings of word
and fall in sure surrender;
their voice demanded heard.
It is as if they're waiting
for me to open doors,
unseen, unknown but real;
a holding place of thought.
Each scrap and tag and drift
of mind, is drawn in surety,
to a new place of being;
created fresh in time.
Some linger in the distance,
or straggle on the path,
but all do find their way;
divine their soulful truth.


  1. Wrestling with words is always an adventure and certainly feels like an animal tamer, or a pre-school teacher at times. Am glad that you herded them all to their meanings. I have a file, simply defined as "unfinished" and it grows with each passing year. I visit occasionally and sometimes actually bring them to completion. Other times, one or two will come demanding a place in the present. I gratefully allow them to do so.


  2. Your beautiful metaphors sum up the writing process quite accurately. I particularly like the image of the poems waiting for you to open doors and introduce them into reality. Lovely job!

  3. As Andra has stated, the image of poems waiting for you to open doors, rings beautifully.