But the words would not converge
Themes and thoughts that did emerge
With promise of infinity
Then vanished at a wall
Leaving not a word at all
Instead I wrote this deathly dirge
To writer’s block I fall
Themes and thoughts that did emerge
With promise of infinity
Then vanished at a wall
Leaving not a word at all
Instead I wrote this deathly dirge
To writer’s block I fall
Shimmering waves
This cloudy night
The stars have failed
In skies too bright
Every photograph untaken
Every brush stroke unpainted
Every stanza unwritten
Every story untold
A small darkness left unilluminated
Already
Standing in the street
Wary of taxis and buses
The trees obscuring
Already
In my hands
No tripod
The light
So very low
Contrast
So very high
Under a darkling sky
Near the end
Of the sun’s
Long good-night
By this light
No darker
click-cliick-cliiick
Exposures times three
Then merge exposures
To become one
In a too-small frame
With tree branches
Encroaching
While taxis and buses
Approaching
Held that lens
In my hands
With low light
And this frame
So this print
No better
But then too
Not bad
And the colours
Oh the colours
Ever vibrant
Even this brown earth
They painted
With expansiveness
Let the grandiose
Dominate the brush
Then I
So happy
For just a hint of them
Through the glass
Held in my hand
I’ve never studied
What the Poets say
Nor worried much
How they place their words
Or why that way
I do not know
How to write a sonnet
I am not sure
What makes pentameter
Iambic
I hope that’s OK
No matter how many times
I look into myself
Listen to my spirit
I find someone new
I remind myself
These are all
Acts of creation
Rather than discovery
Allow the night
To enter frame
Count out seconds
Three by ten
Capturing
These timely glows
One from headlight’s driven thrust
Unfurls along the river’s edge
Another rises up
To meet the clouds
Escape from streets
Illuminate