As this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is "guidance," I was hoping to seek guidance from the group on this poem I wrote last week. It came to me at around 4am and I banged it out, and personally I've felt like it just came together, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it. I've also been struggling with the title, so any guidance would be appreciated. Thanks!
Untitled
the thing about poetry is,
once it finds you, it is very hard to let it go
suddenly it is everywhere
in the gush of a blueberry
running hot and purple on your tongue
when all you wanted was pancakes on a quiet morning
it is there at a street corner
in the slant of light through buildings,
the sheen of a puddle,
tugging at your sleeve as you wait for the light to change
it wants to dance a slow tango with you across Quinpool Rd
toying with you
till you want to share it with strangers
in the darkness of 4am
suddenly poetry is there with you in the room
there in the hum of words in the corner behind your right eye
roll them around in your mind like a marble
hear them like a new song played over and over again
can almost taste them, their metallic twinge
poetry is the imp at the bottom of the bed that takes hold of your blanket
tugging at the corner
there in the feverish warmth of the pillow that you flip over and over
searching for a cool spot to rest your cheek on
then when at last you cannot take it anymore
throw open the laptop
its quiet glow on your knuckles, your eyelashes
bang on the keys
words creeping black across the snowy wilderness of an empty page
hoping to stay the rush of words in your head
release the torrent behind your eyes
then
silence
for awhile...
because poetry knows that you'll be back
~ Ceebie
9 comments:
i love this. you illuminate the dance so well!
"black creeping across the snowy wilderness of an empty page" caught my eyes but there are a lot of nice things about this poem and not the least being that it grabs one's attention and refuses to let go.
Sorry I cannot help with a name because in my opinion only the poet is allowed to name a persoal creation.
You have expressed so well, the grab, the yearning of the words to find there place, be it penned or keyed, waiting for the release of a relentless flow, bursting over the rivers edge, trickling to everything close.
Love it! Well done and so true: we always come back for more.
Oh 4 in the morning.... I can't even tell you how many times over the years I've done as you describe....4 is the witching hour....Marianna Williamson speaks of it in her book, " A Womans Worth." It's common for women to awaken around four!! Beautiful thread of words describing how it feels. I know I wrote a poem on this subject too!!...I'm on a hunt for it in my archives.
Good job...
Hugs Giggles
Writing is all that you say and more. Often it is the agony and ecstasy of losing then finding your way. I wish I could see it in such a beautiful way that you do. However I must admit the exhilaration of completing a piece and the hope that others will see it that way too.
My opinion is that you did a fantastic job with this poem...great visual imagery and I enjoyed it from the first word to the very last!
It is an addiction...I can definitely attest to that lol
Beautifully said :)
I have scribbled on a piece of kleenex because i had a line that I was afraid would disappear before I got home. Just for the record, kleenex is not easy to write on!
love the open two lines.
well done.
Blessings fly your way.
Happy Holidays.
From Sunday Scribbling.
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