I don’t get poetry but…


Six strands of gut
Lie in wait over a wall
A body moves, love
A street brushes the hedge
Where we learned to steal
A rumble of heavy metal
The tearing of wood
Dreams shatter too easily
These days

I’m far away
Safe, but too much
Salt water and newsprint
A swim whenever you want
As though we have forgotten
That we have played with knives
As though we are rotten
And finished with lies

Dream hard, rage hard.

7 thoughts on “I don’t get poetry but…

    1. Thanks. I haven’t written a poem since grade school, amazing what all this blogging inspires you to do… Not to mention reading inspirational things such as your posts, which I quite like.

        1. Will try. Have pesky novel to finish and some stories to publish. I dunno, something wholesome about poetry. Never appreciated it when I was younger. I think it represents some of the best that is in people, and I love that they are willing to share, I shall try to do no less.

  1. where are they now, these days of jams and jams. funny how being safe, maybe content, can leave a bad taste in the mouth at times. this is how this speaks to me.

      1. if it’s the former you mean; no…likely not. but it was alive. safety can breed the opposite feeling sometimes, or perhaps i should say before it bred a blog. that’s been an injection of life…at least for me. perhaps it does for everyone, i don’t know.
        if it’s the latter to which you refer, then i will agree. it’s not a guarantee of that, but it can be.

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