Mar 11

By Poetry

I. Moved:

I am moved by poetry
Sometimes slammed against the walls
Tossed up and down, side to side, to and fro
The adrenaline
The spine-tingling
Heart-stopping
Hair-raising
Flow of poetry
I feel the words coming together
Unified, but divided
Unified so every word connects
Divided so every word has its own meaning
So every word has its own story.


II. Broken:

I am broken by poetry
Touched, tapped
My heart breaks
Imploding
Exploding
Into thousands of irreparable, irreplaceable
Bits and shards
Over and over
“Be careful,” they say. “Glass hurts!”
I know it hurts
My heart hurts too
But I would rather have my heart broken by poetry anyways
Even though I try to glue it back together
It always falls apart.


III. Caged:

I am held captive by poetry
It’s my little world
Within words and emotions
Is this heaven?
“Hello, is anyone there?”
But sometimes I get lonely
Even surrounded by my own thoughts
And feelings
Of happiness
Sadness
Hopes
Fears
It’s a small, small world after all.


IV. Occupied:

I am occupied by poetry
Other people keep souvenirs
I keep words
Like my security blanket
I can wash the words over me
I collect poetry
Sometimes sentences and phrases and fragments
Sometimes thoughts and ideas and figments of thoughts and ideas
Thoughts that will be turned into ideas
Ideas that will turned back to thoughts
I collect people’s stories of impressions and expressions
So that their stories
Will turn into other stories
That will inspire other stories
I collect
Like a magpie gathering its trinkets and treasures in its nest
Because one man’s trash is another’s treasure
I turn their trash into my treasure
Their old into my new
Twisting and turning it for me
I guess I am selfish in that way
If we make who we are by what we have
Then I guess I am in rich…but just in words and ideas
Anyways
Life is short
There is no time to leave the important words unsaid
Because those words will vanish
Dissolve into nothing and everything
Folding inside-out
Go back to being remnants of thoughts
And all the words that I gather and all the words that I write
Will be gone.


V. Called:

I am called to by poetry
I need to let go of my pent-up feelings
The feelings that are shoved down
Stored away to deal with for a later time
Like the tuna sandwich that turns up
Missing from two months ago
I need to take the bull by its horns
No…
I need to grab the bull by its horns
Because taking it would risk letting it go
And I can’t let it go…
I need to let my pen touch the paper
I need to put the sword to the throat
Confront the problem
Or else
I would feel
Like I am hanging off the edge of a cliff
One slip
One fault
One mistake
Would misplace me
And knock me over the edge
Even though I can change words and meanings

It's too bad I can’t turn back time.
Audio download:
By Poetry.m4a