Jul 2015
~~~
Postface: This Thing Called Poetry
postface - a brief explanatory comment or note at the end of a book
or other piece of writing.
~~~
more and more will come,
'tis the nature of,
'tis the burden of,
this compulsion,
this undeniable, irresistible,
emotional chain,
a synapse from
connecting ganglions of nerves,
what we call poetry
each poem
a winnowing,
a narrowing,
the landslide of a moment,
a perspective erected,
a momentary monument
intended and left out overnight
for perpetuity's sake
a finished poem is
a broken telescope,
stuck on a single view,
a broken kaleidoscope,
forever flash frozen
upon a
permanent fruited plain,
a still life salad
walk a few footfalls
to the sandy beach,
humbling,
this vastness,
this billionth universe of
trillions of grains,
each a microscopic starship,
each a poem uncovered, exposed,
weathered and worn,
living among friends
a few taps onto this tablet,
table scraps,
leavings of chalk marks
of poetry,
same,
grains,
metaphoric, meteoric,
a billionth
of something both
dead and living
yet,
still and always,
a simple postface
still required,
a must have,
a necessary
a 'the end' official
sign your name,
your truest signature,
emblem
not of ownership,
but of completion,
here I was done
here I wax spent
sign my work,
so I know this grain came from
my weathered and worn
work, still living
and will be so known,
long after this body'sΒ form
as week is but
a few grains of sand
~~~
July 2, 2015
*NML
Postface: This Thing Called Poetry
postface - a brief explanatory comment or note at the end of a book
or other piece of writing.
~~~
more and more will come,
'tis the nature of,
'tis the burden of,
this compulsion,
this undeniable, irresistible,
emotional chain,
a synapse from
connecting ganglions of nerves,
what we call poetry
each poem
a winnowing,
a narrowing,
the landslide of a moment,
a perspective erected,
a momentary monument
intended and left out overnight
for perpetuity's sake
a finished poem is
a broken telescope,
stuck on a single view,
a broken kaleidoscope,
forever flash frozen
upon a
permanent fruited plain,
a still life salad
walk a few footfalls
to the sandy beach,
humbling,
this vastness,
this billionth universe of
trillions of grains,
each a microscopic starship,
each a poem uncovered, exposed,
weathered and worn,
living among friends
a few taps onto this tablet,
table scraps,
leavings of chalk marks
of poetry,
same,
grains,
metaphoric, meteoric,
a billionth
of something both
dead and living
yet,
still and always,
a simple postface
still required,
a must have,
a necessary
a 'the end' official
sign your name,
your truest signature,
emblem
not of ownership,
but of completion,
here I was done
here I wax spent
sign my work,
so I know this grain came from
my weathered and worn
work, still living
and will be so known,
long after this body'sΒ form
as week is but
a few grains of sand
~~~
July 2, 2015
*NML
this is a companion poem to
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1246928/poetry-keeps-me-afloat-a-work-in-progress/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1246928/poetry-keeps-me-afloat-a-work-in-progress/
(M/nyc)
Please log in to view and add comments on poems
