They say a poet pours verses on the world
but I try to fill the half empty glass with mine.
No comfort is promised in the shaping of speech
or the deft orchestration of the cleverest phrase.
Yet this hidden whisper of words awaits me,
ushers me past the full rows of melancholy
where I have often taken every single seat.
It turns my attention from an excess of mood
to thoughts projected like a chain of pictures,
slivers of still life that flash quicksilver in turn.
I often continue to write long past my finish
just to preserve the rare distracted ignorance
that drags me out of myself and into the keys.
About the Poem
This poem explains one of my own motivations for writing. When I'm in the middle of emotions that are intense enough to overflow, I find it helpful to put my mind elsewhere and pour my energy into craft. Sometimes the result is catharsis, sometimes not. But the process itself lends a comfort all its own.
This poem was completed June 14, 2003. It is previously unpublished in print.