Monday, September 17, 2012
Every now and then, to my great astonishment, poetry just seems to arrive.
Unexpected, even undesired, but suddenly, just there.
The writing below was one of these:
the offspring of my frustration -
the sense that somewhere deep inside me, seemingly unreachable, there is some creative unknown waiting to come out. . . .
there is treasure buried there
i know it.
unlikely ground, yes
or hidden blind.
it heartbeats there
desperate for air and light
what will woo it to the surface
what vaccuum draw it out?
must it emerge unbidden
or be wrenched from darkling depths?
oh for a line cast across the waves
to draw the silvry treasures out.
or for a miner's sweaty shovel
to bare the sparkling gems!
not these, for me, not these.
but hunger without a morsel
and thirst without a drop are mine
till Mercy intervene
and draw aside the veil
that hides, in part, my quest.