She writes a poem
A day
And cuts it up
Into pieces
Scattering the letters
Into the wind
And praying
That the "p"s will take root
And the "q"s will land on fertile soil.
She dots her "t"s
And crosses her "i"s,
Not unlike
Crossing one's fingers or
Knocking on wood
While listening for pings
And waiting for a response.
Providing a bully pulpit, a perch, a roof, a soap box for fiddlers, Quakers, Seekers, roosters, malcontents, true radicals, free thinkers or anyone with a beating heart and a working mind. In the spirit of Thoreau's chanticleer. "I do not propose to write an ode to dejection, but to brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake my neighbors up."
Showing posts with label Original Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Original Poetry. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Gravity Happens
A bead
of water forms
on head of faucet
Swelling
imperceptibly
but surely until
It drops
as it becomes
a drop
and stops,
splashing into
a teacup.
Gravity happens.
of water forms
on head of faucet
Swelling
imperceptibly
but surely until
It drops
as it becomes
a drop
and stops,
splashing into
a teacup.
Gravity happens.
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