Hello poets,
Another day, another poem. Why not? If you’re retired especially, poetry would seem to be a suitable idle pursuit. Idle in a positive sense, as in letting the imagination play. And when that happens, you’ll perhaps find your own voice. Which is the whole point really. The whole of point of poetry. The prompt is what poetry does.
#29
Poetry had dovetailed nicely into
the in-between spaces. For me
it started off like that. Then it became
idly persistent, even in the moonlight
sparkled like diamonds. It left a
feeling of tingling contentment.
In the morning it would have an attitude
and a presence when I sought to make form
out of language, as there’s always some
incommunicable and pressing thing
like a consciousness veering off into
the ineffable, a whisper.
Language being big thumps on the reality
we make, the alliance of alliances, else
why bother to be precise?
It’s how we look to negotiate to be
ourselves and not blubber and to
loud-mouthed propaganda bow.