Writing a Poem

I’m writing a poem,

waiting for an image

to lead me on while eating

Greek yogurt…No, can’t

do both at the same time.

Now I am writing a poem,

my eyes closed…………….

A snapping turtle. I’m falling

asleep. No, I must do this.

Why did Socrates drink

hemlock? Maybe if I lie down…

Got it!  Helpless worms who

drown in a downpour.  And

unsuspecting turkeys who raise

their heads, drink the rain and

die.  I didn’t use to know that.

Of course!  My offstage image

has arrived: water. . . Tears. 

No wonder it took me so long to

recall New Zealand, Parkland,

Jumal  Khashoggi, refugees,

children in cages, climate change

and the raccoon  who was tortured

to death in my hometown.  And no,

I shed no tears for the devil.

 

Nan

 

 

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 82 now.
This entry was posted in A mixed bag, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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