Spring Reading
In need of inspiration I went through a gaggle of old letters and was reminded of the time when our writing was light and lyrical. We played with language as though it was ours to invent. To give life to. To take away. Building castles of words that betrayed our deep imaginative lives. Nothing was and everything was like. No absolutes. They were moments that we wished could last forever and yet they only lasted the duration of a sigh. The amount of time it takes to exhale.
I came across a poem I liked and edited.
I wrote another poem I sort of like and continue to edit.
1. blues and blacks
Boy bathed in blue black.
Torn leather dreams of spotlights
big enough to contain
the passed passing of his soul.
Past the sea whose
bodies, awkward,
writhe and wiggle.
Past the space that stands between
the black blue in bathed boy
2. Life Lessons
He taught her the most important lessons:
“Keep everything to yourself”
and “Give nothing away.”
Which she’d somehow missed in school.
Too busy and preoccupied with
imaginary love affairs
and the business of dreaming.
He taught her when life hands you lemons,
maybe everything should go sour once in a while.
So he kept packets of sugar in his pockets.
He never shared.
(I always wish that my old playmates and wordsmiths were around so that we could exchange language like we used to, bounce poetry around, and get to the meat of our crazy mixed up lives)
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