a poem begins as a sense
of something off kilter,
a moment bursting with
lost and confused,
a deep need to have
some unfleshed
and often painful say
that my voice doesn’t dare
speak out loud.
the words force their way
from my fingertips,
tumbling out of hiding,
immediate, insistent,
jostling for position,
organizing themselves as they go,
until they are each
satisfied with where they’ve lined up,
and proud of what they stand for
in community with the others.
my eyes are compelled to read them
over and over,
until I cannot miss
what I was missing,
until I’m worn out with so much more
than enough of my feelings,
until the peace of knowing
they’ve done their best
settles in.
Then I leave them behind
to speak in my stead
so I can return
to breathing again…
…until a poem begins.
~ cj 2015.04.13
Inspired by this quote from Robert Frost
Nice poem. Your words almost always draw me into the poem. Sometimes more than others. Reading & trying to feel & understand where your coming from. What your feeling & trying to get into that twisted mind. Lol. Just kidding on the twisted mind part. You know I love reading them. Thanks for sharing CJ.
A simply stunning poem! I loved “…insistent, jostling for position, organizing themselves as they go…”, so vivid. I am in awe of your immense talent.