Sunday, April 26, 2015

Leave No Poem Unread

One morning over coffee
four writers joined up to talk 
of writing and its sway on 
all under the bless-ed sun . . .

when they could have been writing.

Classic complications got 
taken up and more or less 
addressed and yet one was left 
dangling, the edge of my mind . . .

when I could have been writing.

Words dwell in dictionaries 
till worders order them to
come alive but where they go
to die, comes up while writing . . . 

words die in poems unread.

No comments:

Post a Comment