Sometimes I wait days
for a poem to come
or the hint of one
to hover near my ear
whispering suggestions
in the night's wind.
Sometimes it's weeks
and nothing comes
and I feel cut off
like a marooned sailor
on some desert isle
and I sit and wait
or do something else
read Proust or Pound
or rewrite old poems
to bring up to date
in style or tone.
Sometimes they come
thick and fast
like ****** at the door
those sales personels
or Witnesses with book
and pale look.
Sometimes the poem
plays hard to get
like a ***** teaser
of boys or men
and is suggestive
of what might be
rather than
full blown poetry.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC
Sometimes I wait days
for a poem to come
or the hint of one
to hover near my ear
whispering suggestions
in the night's wind.
Sometimes it's weeks
and nothing comes
and I feel cut off
like a marooned sailor
on some desert isle
and I sit and wait
or do something else
read Proust or Pound
or rewrite old poems
to bring up to date
in style or tone.
Sometimes they come
thick and fast
like ****** at the door
those sales personels
or Witnesses with book
and pale look.
Sometimes the poem
plays hard to get
like a ***** teaser
of boys or men
and is suggestive
of what might be
rather than
full blown poetry.
