This Poem Can’t Be Much


This poem is a soft-shelled crab, the
drab and unadorned way the world sighs

just before a storm. It can’t be dry
-cleaned, or steamed or hung

on a line. It won’t be patient with
your heart, or your itchy fingers or

the humdrum of your aching un
-metered feet. It’s incomplete, and

stained at center. It can’t be good,
or fooled, or cajoled into something

it’s not. It can’t be caught by trap
or butterfly net or long lost wishing

star. Or mason jar. Or cage. Or rage.
Has it lost its wonder? Perhaps. Let

it wander free. Be. Let it flee these
unlined pages and scribble-scruff

the sky. Let it fall, or fight and find
itself a home. It can’t be too late, right?


Prompted by Poetic Asides

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7 Responses to This Poem Can’t Be Much

  1. annell4 says:

    Love this one!!! Perhaps a poem is a soft shelled crab?

  2. Mandie Hines says:

    So lovely. I would put down which lines I loved the best, but then I’d just be copying the whole thing.

  3. Sherry Marr says:

    This is a delight to read, especially “let it….scribble-scruff the sky” !! I love it.

  4. Candy says:

    ,,,’or cajoled into something it’s not’. That describes my poetry writting process – I am not in control.
    Good one De

  5. Your poems never lose their wonder!

  6. Iris says:

    Nice: “the humdrum of your achin/g un”

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