Lyric hardball
is to be played with reverence
in the mind's court,
a game of solitaire
with sonic underpinnings.
The court is limed. I play
within its boxes
until I am the only one left wondering,
What is the point
of rules which kill momentum?
Better to play on a sunless day
as eyes have no tolerance for strobe.
Brow should remain cool throughout.
The grayer the day, the higher the stakes
because darker, as later,
implies a boundless field.
Cunning moves are made
in the misty relevance of twilight,
one's own overcast moody empire.
In this realm there is no need for triumph
or fleeting reward,
just a small honorarium
for forging the fiord
when light was loved
and it did not hurt to falter.
This was an interesting poem to read. I was puzzled but attracted to the idea behind the writing and the colorful images/ideas you presented: lyric hardball, forging the fjord, the grater the day, the higher the stakes. I interpreted this poem as a Ln interpretation of the artistic process... Could be with any kind of art, but for me, writing. For you? I would guess writing too. Bell done. Made me think and imagine. Thanks!
I enjoyed this poem so much I had to come back and read it again. Thanks for still having it here.
Very nice. I especially like the lines: What is the point of rules which kill momentum? I agree totally.
In this realm there is no need for triumph or fleeting reward, this is a great realization of life that comes from the experience of life. thank you. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I too benefited from the second reading and enjoyed it. Read mine - Brush Strokes - Adeline