Wednesday, April 13, 2016

But I don't write poetry

My wife grins at me when I say that, but it feels so true to me. I don't write poetry. But apparently, once in a blue moon, a poem falls out of me.


wind blows too cold to stay out
but home blows too loud to stay in

water mutes noises, calms nerves,
turns harsh lights to mystic glowing skyscrapers...

But they're upside down

like the World when you can't go home

sounds both inside and out
then turning in again
fighting and roaring
screaming and pounding

wishing for resignation
    to end the battle