the rain
plays grey old tunes on
the stones
cobbled, grave, and jaded
with your soft eyes you say
things might have worked out the arithmetic,
but the smiles in Montreal
say otherwise:
sunshine
it's hard
feeling like the periodic table
and even harder when you're young.
9 comments:
Cellar Door!
wow. fab.
really. thanks.
though i would change that one line to "cobbled, jaded and grave".
it's nice to end stanzas on a short consonant, i feel.
yep, nice.
i'm not actually too sure what it's about, initially i was just being defiant...i think that's how poetry is inspired; those metaphors that inexplicable appear.
I thought you were initiating another group poetry project.
i agree, cara.
that's how i started writing when i was, like, 20 or 21 or so and didn't really know what i wanted to say.
just loose, random connections--not necessarily trying for meaning, but just letting words come out and seeing what happened.
and often, as you say, it emerges on its own.
You have to dig deep, deep down in those metaphors. That's where you find the really good stuff!
ya, the metaphors become a place to excavate: as you said sky, "to dig, deep, deep down"...
who knows what you'll find, but it's usually pretty good.
so wolfboy, what do you do now that you're older? Are you less inspired? Do you still believe in miracles?
;)
And I agree it's time for a poetry project...stay tuned.
cool.
and yep, still the same process.
good question.
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