She Tugs On My Poetry

 

She tugs gently at the spot

Where my poems hide

Scribbled dots of affection that might offer up

Something of value when tended by her gentle touch.

Sometimes, she needs to drag my poems from my heart

Like the heather stuck in the ice,

Their flowers still born,

Once freed come to life,

She walks along weathered, broken fences 

Towards the garden gates

Long since shut,

Each step proud and elegant

I walk at her side and shuffle like some

Rusted-out old tractor

The engine afraid to turn

Afraid of that one churn,

Afraid of what that one spark might do,

As she walks, her train glows in the sunlight,

Her feet overturning my stones,

Shining the creative luminescence

On forgotten couplets

A waltz played on a broken piano

That somehow still pleases the ear

Rust is so difficult to live with

Even when you’re old

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

"As she walks, her train glows in the sunlight,
Her feet overturning my stones,
Shining the creative luminescence
On forgotten couplets
A waltz played on a broken piano
That somehow still pleases the ear"

I exhaled a sigh after reading this...so lovingly written, Dan. So beautiful!

[daninstockholm]

Kelly, I'm delighted You liked it! Thank You so very much for Your kind words!

[jeannemarie coulter]

really enjoyed this walk of words with you...i have been living rusted for a long time...well penned tapestry of words...

[daninstockholm]

Thank you so much dear friend.