a pox upon verdana

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Gen | for outlookpark | 393 words | 2024-09-01 | Personal Poetry

Poetry

wouldn't you, too, like to know something new?

an abstract vehicle for that which eludes us
a touchable taste of that we cannot touch

and just as a musician is present at a wedding within which he has no stake, so too might the poet describe scenarios he has never seen; wishes he has never dreamed. wouldn't you, too, like to know something new?

(a musing on the nature of love, and we here merely vendors. the photographers, wearing black clothing and white running shoes. the officiant, who is not limited by the robes of a priest nor the position of unfamiliarity. the planner, whose vocation it is to send the inspired on their way. hand signals thrown through a heavy wooden door. and cacophonous cocktails, downstairs.)

i think it's something we can't do on purpose. i think it has to be a happy accident, or else a terrible one. we cannot, sadly, create wonderful meaning on purpose. always an element of spirit that flows within. always something else that we must forget to conspire to do.

poetry is not, at its most expressive, what we think. it is what we feel. whether or not we are able to articulate that, in any one given moment, is a marvelous and marvelously capricious gift.

it is a gift. it is a song. it is a blossom. it is a seed.

touched by faith. the provenance of wind and natural organisms carries it. it is in loneliness as it is in community; but what is the definition of loneliness if not the lack of community?

solitude. bravery.

things we want to share but cannot say.

not prescriptive but descriptive. not proactive but reactive.

anything can be poetic, as we find it. anything can be an edict, if we mind it.

a poem is something that speaks, through words, as an object without words. as a feeling as yet unfelt and a promise rendered autonomous.

only expressed. always impressed.

and yes, those privileged to write it, to engage through it, are blessed.

a feather shed by an angel and inscribed
a leaf from the tree of life, so tender

to glorify the words of others, as beautiful, as valuable - that is the choice. that is the action.

this is the tipping point, from what we wish to what we will.

anything can be. many things will be. and this piece, as others...maybe not.