Sunday, March 15, 2009

Writer's Block 1

One of the worst things about being so ill, is that there are poems I wish to write (sometimes I even take notes on one, or start research or an outline). But I never get around to the writing.

I just don't have the energy, or there are too many other (urgent) things taking precedence.

Thank goodness I AM getting some blogging done once in awhile, or I would feel absolutely bereft.

I am, and always have been, my art...


Smooth and pristine white petals circling
a yellow center in perfect symmetry,
all held together by a delicate green stem.
And carefully cultivated by big nurseries
for lovers to give lovers in bunches.
Yet, I prefer wild growing snapdragons.


Hawk soars
above checkerboard fields,
beside granite slabs of mountains,
through deep wooded canyons.

Hawk beats
the air with wings of strength,
wings that can make the thunder roll
out across the land.

Hawk saves
the lightening in its dark eyes
to hurl at enemies in streaks and bolts
during battles of will.

Hawk hunts
with eyes that miss no movement,
with sharp talons that pierce cruelly,
and with a forever hunger.

Hawk kills
and tears apart till quivering flesh,
spreading the bloody entrails
across the high mountain ledges.

Hawk's soul
is a fast moving black shadow;
once it barely brushed against me.
I shivered.