Oddments

In search of story


5 Comments

Connections: April 25.17

Dear reader,

It appears I might be gone from my blog for a couple days,

so I will not be able to meet my goal of a poem a day

for National Poetry Month.

But Thursday is Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day and

even though I haven’t been able to make my usual preparations for it,

I want to be sure you all have poems for your pockets,

so here is one of my favorites.

It won’t take long for you to write it down

and put it in your pocket

and slip it into the pocket of someone else

maybe.

THE MIRACLE OF SPRING

We glibly talk

of nature’s laws,

but do things have

a natural cause?

Black earth becoming

yellow crocus

is undiluted

hocus-pocus.

— Piet Hein

Wishing you all poems for your pockets

and for the pockets of all you love!

Connections


6 Comments

The wimp who would be writer

I’ve been immersed
in the worst

kind of writing.

The kind
that mazes mind.

Forced to dredge,
lean over the edge.
No net,
no ledge
but cowardice,
my oft-times savior.

I waiver.

It is too big,
I am too small.
Words are too short,
life is too tall.

Why try?
I cry.

Coward!
taunts the muse.
Yes!
the writer dies
a thousand deaths,
singing revision blues.

Re-, re-, re-

re-write,
re-think,
re-visit,
re-ink,

re-member.

Again,
my pen,
again.

Look to spring,
the muse sings.
If crocus can arise
from dark place
so can you.

It snows,
stupid muse!
No crocus I
anyway.
Just coward
writer,
barely mettled,
words in pieces,
thoughts unsettled.

But
— a stirring underground —
wanting courage,
perhaps stubbornness
will do.