I wrote this poem 6 months ago or so and came across it today by chance. It strikes a chord with my mood this afternoon so I have decided to post it to the blog in lieu of words more contemporaneous. It was the afternoon before Christmas and I was home by myself, the dogs were both snoring, one on a chair and the other on the couch.
* * * * * * * * *
That it’s worth doing well
Doesn’t mean it’s worth doing
If no one else will ever know
Or care or tell
Unless you feel compelled
The way a swan plays the trumpet
As if it’s a necessary part of what
Or who you are and what
You have to keep doing
To stay alive
That’s what poetry
Has to become
Your daily meditation
And prayer
You don’t need a license
But it does take
Constant practice
So you can close your eyes
And pluck the truth directly
Out of thin air
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