A poet has to look up or down
if they want to be worth anything at all.
Look up into the pleated theater clouds
heading north across the sky.
Look down way down in the depths
of their own souls and find yourself
before you walked in knowledge.
There is a change coming cause
the wind is blowing the tree tops bare
a roar has gone up
that I haven't heard since March,
It's blowing the trees stark naked
as Winters harsh reality
seems to be on the way.
I can see for the first time
what lay hidden beneath the leaves.
It's fast becoming an ugly day.
I am caught up in the sky.
I've got no business
looking up I should be looking in
but I just can't help myself.
I'm an optimistic failure
unafraid to fail again.
I've got no sense at all.
I am hoping the sky stays warm
and blue in the face of November.
I am bent on nothing and searching
for the words of another great poet
who can show me the magic
of the written verse.
Maybe it's you I am looking for
and words that are delicious.
Perhaps I will see you've been by here and I
will go and read you and think how
much my poetic friend knows about
looking up or down and what
you know about the north wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem