Entreaties

My gums are bleeding again.

There’s a stack of papers that need attention

But I can’t find my glasses.

My truck is making that funny noise.

I sleep too late

Because no one wakes me.

I don’t write

I feel it’s all been said.

I find I’m repeating myself

No one takes me seriously

Your point’s been made:

I am selfish and fickle,

Say whate...

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Michelangelo said the work of art awaited him beneath the slab of marble, merely for him to uncover it. In my own small way I understand that as I write these days. The poem I know is possible waits patiently at the other side across a murky divide and with luck and patience maybe I can reach it, reveal it.

Here is  one I wrote about a barbecue years ago in the small town where I lived.

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