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What Does It Take ? 

What does 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.

Flowers become love and sightless night
is fear that a problem is not resolved
and unseen patterns will paint
ugliness on our delicate canvas.

Words flutter like summer leaves
then like anxious birds they fly
from tree to lawn. We cast our imaginary net
until snowflakes revel an infinite variety.

Finally the turning seasons become
a landscape painted on the white page.
This exploration of ourselves grows
and then we call this painting a poem.

 

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Listen >
For the Love of Poetry

We seem surprised
as our children transform
our technical inventions
into social transparencies
that we kept locked in a drawer.

Inverted pictures
of famous private actions
were only printed in tabloids,
inventions of our inner desire
for superior feelings.

There is never a news event
exposing a child's poem
describing the joy of snowflakes
or the thrill of a late evening
game of hide-and-seek.

Has Pandora's box been opened?
Have the contents been spilled
onto the internet for all to see,
for all to lament that our nature
is now a public poem.

Poetry as exposé, as unlocked diary
is like a growth hormone, real,
repetitive and strangely surprising
to those who have forgotten
their love of poetry.

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