AbsurdBeats

I don’t write poems anymore.

I don’t know why I stopped, don’t consider this a writer’s block, don’t know if I’ll ever write poems again.

The words always come, if not always right away, but how they come? That’s beyond me. I try to be good and pay attention when they do come, not to let them tumble out and away, but I can be careless, so careless with the words.

You can’t be careless in poetry; poetry is care for words, care in words, care for the quick-step and sidle, the long breathless pause and the swoon and swoop out over the water.

I would like that back, but here is one I wrote before the poetry went away. I may have posted it before, but if so, well, I like it enough to post it again.

Catching Witches

Washed down
the river
you will be
born
again into
the hands
of God.
But
if your lungs are
stronger
than your faith,
you will be
grounded
on this earth,
still alive,
but dead
forever.

There was no agenda when I wrote this, just the sound, and the impossibility.