Does It Take ?
it take to write a poem?
Is there an exotic concept that reveals
a life or the earth as it whirls through
the imagined universe of atoms.
Are we looking
to explain that we can
explain all things. Stars explode and a leaf
falls as seasons roll through our lives.
Reason builds our poetry and we cry.
We cry and
laugh and paint ourselves
in the centre of a canvas and it becomes
a poem, or is it light or music or math
that matters as we translate the sun.
love and sightless night
is fear that a problem is not resolved
and unseen patterns will paint
ugliness on our delicate canvas.
like summer leaves
then like anxious birds they fly
from tree to lawn. We cast our imaginary net
until snowflakes revel an infinite variety.
turning seasons become
a landscape painted on the white page.
This exploration of ourselves grows
and then we call this painting a poem.