What Happens When You Sit On Your Front Porch


I have a new poem, or at least something that I have never exactly written before.  For those of you who have read much of this blog or dared to delve into some of my past work, you may notice that there are several poems or pieces that talk about the same thing more or less.  The main reason for this is that I do not draft, I write and when I put my pen down I am done with the piece and it now lives on its own outside of me.  The problem with this is that I will often start writing something with a specific end in sight, something I really want to say but the words that come and fall into place take me in another direction or just do not say fully and completely all that I wanted.  So days or weeks or months later I write another piece, still trying to say one thing perfectly.  This is one more attempt at trying to do so, I hope it is well received, even if it is just another echo of something I was trying to say before.

 

I am feeling thoughtful yet have no thoughts

Just sitting on my porch looking around me for the words

There don’t seem to be any about

Or if they are here, they are furtive and cautious

Hiding in the shrubbery, peeping out from the cool green covert of leaves

With bright, tiny ink drop eyes.

 

I want the bold words, bright and fierce

Shining in their power and glory

Words that in their majesty make the arch of the sky

Or climb up to heaven as pillars or mountains

Words that summon host to battle

That rise and fall in great green foaming waves.

 

Lacking those, I would settle for softer words

The words that speak themselves in breathy whispers

That burn, that dance, that cling like sweat

Words of darkness, that leave ones lips with longing in the speaking of them

Aching words, desperate, dreaming, hungry

Whole tangled bodies of words moaning themselves to themselves.

 

Every day, with every breath, all that I am

Is looking for the words…

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4 Responses to “What Happens When You Sit On Your Front Porch”

  1. Your words are your tools. You can change the world with them, not so much with the words as objects, but as creative energy. They exist, move and become because that is what energy does – it cannot be destroyed, only transformed. Our energy and how we use it is what creates our world. Use it wisely.

  2. emisformaker Says:

    Don’t fear the drafting process. If anything, it’s more important to the poet than the prose author, if only because you work with such sparse verbiage that you need to pick over every word – even every bit of punctuation – so that the piece says exactly what you want it to say. It will still mean different things to different people, because the individual offers context. It will still be moving, artful, heartfelt, and all of the things poetry means to you, but the end result will be more fulfilling and less frustrating. Plus, the more practice you have, and the greater ease you develop with the language, the less of a drafting process you’ll have to go through.
    As you say, you tend to return to the same themes again and again. Perhaps by trying a drafting process, you’ll be able to move into different areas, or even delve deeper into those areas you already know and love.

    • blackwatertown Says:

      Agree that the drafting process is something to be embraced not avoided.
      More specifically – the first is so true.
      The last line – I didn’t quite get that. I think it was the “is”.

  3. blackwatertown Says:

    Meant to type – the first line is so true.

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