Writing a poem
The words lay where you left them,
just before you gave up last night
and went to bed.
The few clumsy lines that you have hoped
might become something you are now,
in the cold light of morning,
simply another collection of unfinished
meanings
disconnected singularities pointing to
nothing beyond themselves.
Writing a poem you have learned
is not the hiding of a thing
it is an uncovering of a new world,
a magical world of adventures to type
in words on the computer for Mr H
As well, it is like raking last year's leaves out of the garden
and finding beneath grey piles of the greying decay
and the first few shoots of spring are already growing
and maybe someday, just someday I'll use my talents
to write this poem...
A poem by Joshua.L
13/12/14