I don't know whether I'm cut out for this.
It's something with my eyes--the way I see
things. Too plain, hard edges. Prosaically,
not like a poet. Something I always miss.
I'm trying to teach myself--learn to connect
the concrete and abstract, the way the sky
looks with my childhood, search for that dry
faint line where sense and meaning intersect.
And fail, day after day. I puzzle out
the rhymes and iambs, turning lead to lead.
Alchemy in mechanics. What comes out
does not speak well of the elements in my head.
I guess I'm after magic. But this puff
of smoke tells me my words aren't strong enough.
1 comment:
Another semi. Ah yes, I want to say, dat ol debbil doubt. Not self-abasement, but genuine doubt. Nicely done.
The part of a line, "turning lead into lead," which I take as referring to pencil lead being turned into uninspired verse, however, belies the statements made about your ability.
Post a Comment