poetry is impossible

messing around with rhyme & meter, idk

poetry is impossible.

the endless search to synthesize words
that symbolize a sensation with a blissful string of

imagery.

i find myself standing here,
in front of a broken clock,
caressing it with a mallet
in hopes the
tick-tick-

ticking will come back to me someday.

but the pulse of poetry is not in
the wonderful weaving of well-written

stanzas.

it hides in a perfectly ripe peach at the peak
of the summer heat,
in the juice that drips down your wrists
as you take a bite of the
in the sweetness skipping
across tastebuds,

in the small talk lulling to allow the mourning doves'
music to be heard to a couple of eavesdroppers
the pulse flutters when i hear my friend laugh,

her head tossed back
her citrused hair sparkling gold in the sun.

feeling divine art in all
of the minute meaningless moments
that link up into a lifetime.

Reviews

[K. Louis]

The image of standing in front of a broken clock, searching for something to bring it back to life, resonates deeply..and the way you highlight the beauty in everyday moments, like eating a ripe peach or hearing a friend laugh, is really beautiful and true.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

This is a fine written poem that captures the essence of why we write. It's in captured moments of beautiful brevity. Continued success in your writing journey.