Poetry

I have returned to writing poetry after a long hiatus of not finding quiet moments to notice the translucent muses. There is a discipline to this, like bird watching. A birdwatcher must train their senses to become attune to the presence of birds that may be just out of sight, their cry blended into the non-stop noise of the day. Both writing poetry and birdwatching takes slowing down to listen and watch.

Here is a poem I recently wrote:

Last Night’s Words

Morning

last night’s words lay strewn
sharp side up
eye-balling me
as I stepped on the droppings
of yesterday’s tired clothes

Lunch break
taking refuge in my car
I stop on a side street and leave the radio running
my plastered smile parked on the dashboard
you call. We skirt around the dirt
as drizzle plops
in an off-rhythm rap
the windshield wipers no longer flexible
smear the daily grime and splattered drops
I squint to see between the streaks

Evening
weary of words that wind us up
we retreat to our own corners of the house
waiting to slide into separate sides of the bed
I role into the middle ground
you are already there