Unfinished

 

Obvious as walking into a bar
goes the soulful companion, poetry.
Commences a surprise, no history about it, 
submits to fate leaving no debris
for the field must be left clear, pure.
Fashioned in singular language 
like nothing more than an inaudible voice,
if noticed at all it will be disregarded.
I think invisible as gravity,
I think just as crucial.
Obvious as the sea we swim in
a poem is an unheralded experience of the fact.
A battle won in an endless war.
It says you are awake when the order of the day is sleep,
of a sudden alive when pronounced dead.
Why is a duck not poetry? I say it is!
Compare the masterpiece from a genius.
A mechanical representation. Can it nip your finger?
Darling, drag no more entries from your diary
into the light. I swear
everyone knows it all anyway.
Take this whole loaf of bread to the pond
and indulge your poor self with poetry.
Obvious as a heightening breeze
you will return refreshed
and our correspondence continue to thrive.

 

◄ On Hearing A Lament

Recognition ►

Comments

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John Botterill

Thu 6th Jan 2022 19:13

This is awesome Adam. I will never look at a duck in the same way again hahaha 😀

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