I often say
”if only”
and
“I wish”
Although
I lack
Regret
For the
What was
because
the “if only”
would make me
what I’m not
and the
“Oh well”
that I am
I like.
-Kami Tilby
Posts Tagged With: poem
If Only
Crawling Between the Seasons
Here’s another selection culled from my personal book of poetry. Look here to see a previous entry.
The editor in me wants to change it, correct bits, rewrite or hide it. The blogger in me thinks this is simply who I was when I wrote it and it shouldn’t be changed. I’ll let you decide.
So, here it is, a poem about a sunset. It was written a long, long time ago, another lifetime ago. I can still remember the sunset, feel the cool air, feel the me I was.
Wish I’d taken a photo. Maybe this poem serves as a replacement for a photograph. A snapshot of my much younger self, daring, confident, certain of my view of the world and ready to share it.
A View from Younger Eyes
I once fancied myself a poet of sorts. I let go of that idea for a long time. Then, I recently came across a book of collected poems by my younger self. Each poem was typed, then cut out and carefully pasted into a blank book. The gold lettering, hand-pressed to the outside cover and spine, still looks pretty good. It’s the most professional look I could manage given the technology of the time.
Now I could key in an address, get out my credit card and order up a professionally printed, bound, self-authored, illustrated book. Maybe someday.
There’s an honest quality to the typewritten page. The corrected type speaks volumes. The indentations that punctuation make into the paper give the poem a tangible finality.
The temptation to edit and polish the poem before sharing it was strong. But, I like the unjaded, unedited perspective of youth. To quell the editor in me I simply photographed the poem from the page in my book to share right here.
I’m not sure I have it in me anymore to write poetry. It’s a stark, open-bellied, sense of exposure to write a poem. There isn’t any excess verbiage to hide behind, no explanatory prefacing. It’s like a literary photograph. The writer must say, “This is my perspective, this is what I saw, nothing more, nothing less. Take it or leave it.”
Thirty Three Words Sandwiched In
Crushed
Finally
Mercifully
A brevity of
Breathing in
Cherished
Rare moments together
Sandwiched in
Between
Forty hours
Bread of demands
Spice of dreaming
Crunch of wants, musts
Spilled words
Crumbs of
Time
Wasted.
This post is in response to a Trifecta Writing Challenge.