I wrote it yesterday,
felt it stop the press of Time
till satisfaction,
sweet like after making love,
turned my every cell to honey
and when I could get up
I walked slowly,
weighing only a pound or so,
back to my car
under a weightless, almost colorless sky
that smiled without a mouth.
It sits in my notebook now,
I'll get it out and post it soon,
but I'm procrastinating,
it can't be as good as it felt yesterday,
and if it is, how can I ever write anything again,
and what will I do from now on?
This is glorious, whimsical, and highly imaginative, with just a whisp of irony. A poet's poem is ever there was one. '...that smiles without a mouth' is sheer bliss. love, Allie xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I really enjoyed this write....comparative it was and it flowed and imagined all what you wrote....very good.....I liked the ending..
like this poem I think it captures a bit of every poets deepest fear the next one wont be as good
Oh yes, Max...and the one just written is always the favorite...'til you write another. I love the description you had of yourself after writing the poem. Just warm and lovely. Raynette
I think this will strike a chord with many. Love the image you painted of the sky. Justine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
yes, i like that...i know what you mean! ulrike