Monday, April 07, 2008
How This Begins (from "A Slip Of The Tongue")
the day is overcast
and I am south of Tucson
staring at clouds through screen windows.
this is how it begins as
I type
and this is how it begins as
I sit and wait for
the divine
inspiration.
today, words have been lost through
humidity and
self-doubt.
concepts have been drawn and then
re-arranged in
uncertainty.
the rain keeps coming down
and I wonder if
there is any hope for me.
I know that it is miserable to not
get through.
and I know that it is terrifying to not
make way.
the rain keeps coming down
and the wind blows through
and it is hard to
sit through it all.
but I sit here,
despite my present failure
to write the
immortal
poem.
this is how it begins as I
swat at the gnats and
the spiders.
this is how it begins as passion and desire
are fading into the rain
as I hit these keys.
the mountains are distant
like the charcoal summer fires.
the city is a speck on the
wall.
and this is how it begins as
I make my way
through rain and
wind
and
drunken days.
maybe it was meant to be
this way
or maybe I have fallen victim to some
terrible joke.
yes,
this is how it will begin
at the porch of
a quiet desert
in Arizona
just 30 miles south of
Tucson.
and I am south of Tucson
staring at clouds through screen windows.
this is how it begins as
I type
and this is how it begins as
I sit and wait for
the divine
inspiration.
today, words have been lost through
humidity and
self-doubt.
concepts have been drawn and then
re-arranged in
uncertainty.
the rain keeps coming down
and I wonder if
there is any hope for me.
I know that it is miserable to not
get through.
and I know that it is terrifying to not
make way.
the rain keeps coming down
and the wind blows through
and it is hard to
sit through it all.
but I sit here,
despite my present failure
to write the
immortal
poem.
this is how it begins as I
swat at the gnats and
the spiders.
this is how it begins as passion and desire
are fading into the rain
as I hit these keys.
the mountains are distant
like the charcoal summer fires.
the city is a speck on the
wall.
and this is how it begins as
I make my way
through rain and
wind
and
drunken days.
maybe it was meant to be
this way
or maybe I have fallen victim to some
terrible joke.
yes,
this is how it will begin
at the porch of
a quiet desert
in Arizona
just 30 miles south of
Tucson.
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Selected Poetry
Most Of Us (from "A Slip Of The Tongue")
span style="font-family:arial;"
will never know what it is like
to have a million dollars. ... (more)
Directions (from "A Slip Of The Tongue")
my pregnant wife and my son were waiting in the
car
as I hurried into the gas station to buy some cheap ... (more)
I Don't Know What Else To Say (from "A Slip Of The Tongue")
really,
the river has run dry
the ink is dull ... (more)
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Copyright © 2006 - 2009 by AJ Lewis
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