Poring over the old journals, of course I came across the old poetry. There was a time when my journals were filled with more poetry than prose. A LONG time ago.
But when I go back and read it, I still like it. Most of it was melancholy, since most of my writing comes from an empty, confused, or hurting place inside me. But I'll share one here that wasn't quite as sad as the rest. I like the "weaving" metaphor. I used to weave...In fact I still have a loom up in the rafters of my garage that I can't bring myself to throw away...
It is past time to choose
a dream to weave
through time’s prickly warp
The colored yarns of fancy
each warm, rich, and promising
are set high on the merchant’s shelf,
within inches of a stretch…
Where is the stepstool to the dreams?
This is great. I write alot of poetry--but like you, mine is usually written in sad times and it's not the kind of stuff I want to share. This is beautiful.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful Lisa...thank you. If you find that stepstool, let me know>
ReplyDeleteThis is wonderful. A lot of my old journals were poetry as well.I think it's the poem really gives the writer the gift.
ReplyDeleteI think that's really pretty...
ReplyDelete