this poem

 

.

this poem is a slight chance,
a small glance into a waiting spring.

this poem doesn’t want to play or
sing or sting or
be
much of anything.

this poem is a ragged
piece of forgotten string.

this poem is spit-scrawled, bitter
-brawled and bawling songs
at the top of its aqua
lungs.

this poem is holding its tongue;
a small lisp whispered.

this poem is well
-hung, bucket-dipped
and pulling up only
living water. this poem
has slaughtered its own
sway but remembers how
to samba-limbo under
that stick.

this poem is tick
-led by a feather
from a fractured wing. a piece
of glass stunning the sun.
a frayed firefly. a broken
shell that can still hear
the sea.

..

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4 Responses to this poem

  1. I feel like this poem! A broken shell that can still hear the sea – that’s impressive.

  2. Misky says:

    Love this:

    this poem doesn’t want to play or sing or sting or be much of anything.

    Charming poem, De.

    >

  3. Gia says:

    “this poem is a ragged
    piece of forgotten string.” …I think I’m this too.

    Love those next two stanzas.

  4. Candy says:

    that’s one determined poem! love it! sad and hopeful at the same time.

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