June 22, 2012

poem 197 of a poem a day for 2012

where do the poems come from

I don’t know I said
ringing the sting of Summer
in the heat that brought
the death of Spring
with a pyred atmosphere
that thankfully burned
the remnants of questions
that lingered unanswered
like hers just a moment ago

while questions raged
inside me I was too polite
or too meek in seeking advice
to ask them out loud
am I my own live fire exercise
do I like to take the bullets and bane
do I like to stay insane
so that I am an example made
am I a jolly roger exemplified
am I just another narcissist
hiding beyond reason and
wrapping every colorful sound into silence

I don’t know why
I don’t know where words come from
for certain things that ring deeper
than sometimes I am willing to go
I love rabbit holes
but sometimes the field of distractions
take traction and hold me bare
giving my hesitancy reason
to stay right there
for if not knowing what words
might fit the suckle rhyme
might gather every part
of my bleeding soul
then shoot me
full of dictionaries and
duct tape my mouth
bind my hands and
sharp ember stick my eyes
just leave my nose alone
so that I can find
where answers don’t need
words and things I’ve sought
to taste time in its
constant ripe savor
when memory and
a moment held and
infinity come together
line by line
in tined mindful bites
in mouths filled
with the supple waiting
of a Winter’s loam
in the richness of
my poet self
I am the meal
I am the poem


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