I am, part V: unheard

The thing about poetry is
that someone
who must be "someone"
has to take notice
and tell the world
that a poem is great
this someone is a mouthpiece
for the written word
without this someone
there is only a poem

unread
unknown
like a scream in the woods
unheard

The thing about attraction is
that someone
who must be someone
has to take notice
and feel the power
give in to the pull
believe the desire is worthy
that the affection is mutual
the feeling is real
otherwise the attraction is missed

unseen
unknown
like a scream in the woods
unheard

The thing about life is
that someone
could be anyone
has to take notice
and say hello
nod their head, smile
make their presence known
and acknowledge me
show that I exist
and I'm not insignificant

unknown
unseen
and like my screams in the dark

unheard

3rd anniversary of this blog

This month I celebrate my third anniversary of writing this blog. I never imagined that I would be able to keep writing consistently for this long, but I am very glad that I stuck with it. Each milestone, be it another year or another hundred posts, pales in comparison to the happiness I feel with each poem.

Each post is a major accomplishment, a tiny bit of me or my world. It sometimes flows easily, but mostly it takes precious time. I feel it has and will be time well spent.

I hope you enjoy visiting here as much as I enjoy having you here.


Revisiting us, we

lost

a momentary flicker
then a flash -
a collision of thoughts
untangled from the web
of thinking,
hanging alone in the breeze
looking for purchase
before the winds of time
rip it from its fragile mooring

and it sails away
a gossamer string of words

floating into the wilderness
of what was
what could have been
what will never be


Revisiting the past: melting

deeper and deeper the cut

Does the writer know his words will be great?
We all strive for that goal
many times falling flat
other times sailing high on the wings of admiration
Is that enough?
Are there more reasons why
we toil
and stress
and tidy up dirty little lines
into beautifully sculpted stanzas?
Who benefits the most from these hard labors-
the lonely writer or the lone reader?

or does anyone at all...?



Revisiting the past: Men

The master and the servant

the words bit
retreated
and bit again
swirling vortices
of unstructured grammar
untrained
dangerous
yet beautiful
and strong
I challenged them
set them in a row
rearranged them
the biting began anew
more and more
their numbers grew
I struggled
attempting to subdue
the uncontrollable
the wild
I managed
to teach them
format
the element of surprise
grouping
flow
simplicity
complexity
The most unruly
ones
still bit
on occassion
the wounds remind me
that I am not in charge
of the words;
they command
me



Revisiting the past -
What I wrote two years ago:
http://realityisimmaterial.blogspot.com/2006/01/ceremonial-mask.html

The Making

I have the urge to create

but I lack the vision
and insight

I don't have a goal
or purpose

that's not the problem
usually

I write spontaneously
without direction

like a drifter recording
many travels

from the farthest reaches
of my mind

a documentary
of emotions

with meaning only
for me

I have the urge to create
but I lack the means

of appealing
to the masses

Maybe my niche
is elsewhere

a smaller groove
my words fit into

a place off the path
another dimension

of the same universe
Frost wrote from

but mine points
in another direction

and it makes
all the difference

to me




Revisiting the past:
What I wrote a year ago

http://realityisimmaterial.blogspot.com/2006/01/internal-revolution.html

Quickly

I have only a moment
not enough time to think through,
analyze, research and contemplate
the placement of the words
and what I wish to convey

I don't have the precious seconds
to ponder pace
align ahliteration
straighten stanzas
design rhymes

and now my time is up

my writing style in a haiku

hopeless endeavors
lead to the ultimate goal
persistence pays off

November (time is running out)

I was going to write that novel,
you know the one -that November thing
where I submit 2000 words a day
or something like that

but life got in the way

I was going to add a blog post every day
keep up with that National blogging month thingamajig
one post a day, how hard can it be?
even I can pencil a few lines each day

well, life got in the way

I understand what these exercises offer -
the opportunity to be supported
by a like minded community
to grow and help others grow

but life gets in the way

the trick is to make time
(that's the lesson I'm sure)
to hone my craft and create something
dust off the ideas and write

but life has a habit of getting it's way

If I could make time, I'd save it in a jar
then I'd sell it on eBay in October
to all those Blogger Novel writers
(maybe even become a millionaire)

But that's a lot of work
and I'm pretty darn sure
that as soon as I'd get started

life would get in the way

Empty: the lonely artist

each word
a tiny piece of the puzzle
irregular edges
that somehow form
the picture
only I can see

each verse
a thread in the tapestry
woven together
by a skilled mind
and vivid
imagination

each stroke
of the mental brush
on metaphorical canvas
highlights perfect use
of color
and innate sense
of wonder

each form
fills
the void

in


me



briefly