Singing Myself a Song

My respiration and inspiration,
the smoke of my own breath…
-from Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself

Nothing zings today.

None of the words want to come
out and play. They’ve all got
minds of their own,
a groan for this relentless
scorching sun and one
or two gripes to grump
and crimp and pinch
away from the page.

Perhaps if I in
-hale my own hope smoke,
poke them around a bit,
fit them together in some
more amicable way, they
will grab a cocktail and
decide to stay.



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2 Responses to Singing Myself a Song

  1. Indeed, maybe a cocktail is ALL they need 🙂
    I know the feeling of “nothing zings today.” Maybe it’s something in the air and we need to inhale a little deeper!

  2. Love this line: “Nothing zings today.” It makes me think of Hotel Transylvania. 🙂

    or two gripes to grump
    and crimp and pinch
    away from the page”

    “Perhaps if I in” … Oh yes, hide away inside yourself for a while. It’s a necessity from time to time. Always leads to a poem or two, eh?

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