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