Monday, April 7, 2014

NPM: The Work and the Worker, Delays, & The Art of Barking

I noticed, after my last post, that I wrote four poems for three days, and then skipped a day. And then I was tired so I skipped a few more, because, let's face it: poetry is hard work. When I spend so much of my time wrapping my brain around something that is not my niche, or my "go to" activity, it's hard to really delve into the emotional depths required for such writing.

I'm still tired. But I'll try. Because I owe the world three poems.

The Work and the Worker

Pilfering paper piles,
placidly placed,
perhaps people prefer
Half-hired honesty:
happy here,
happy however.
Happy his, happy hers,
happy hell.
What went wrong?
Which welling world
waywardly walked,
wistfully wandered,
wilted without
Who was willful?
What worker?
What work?


If the sun shines
but the earth never turns.
Do we still
If the skies shake
but the rain stays aloft.
Do we stay?
And if it does rain
and the ground fills up
but the grass stays brown
and the flowers never grow.
Do we ever?

The Art of Barking

I've been bewildered by spring,
the innocence it does not spare,
allowing upward blossoms
to be trampled or twisted.
The birds' wings act as fists
against the smaller flying beasts
and the cruel rains drown
the newest of blooms.
It seems winter was not enough
of tragedy or agony
for the flowers or the foxes or me.
But even baby trees bend
and soon they grow a thick skin
and they get ready
for the next time around.

No comments:

Post a Comment