i havent had a hope since 1989

hopeless

the sun would kill you if it could

with the moon as an accomplice

and the problem with writing

is the problem with everything

where everything can go wrong

if you trust the wrong words

like being scared of the future

like trusting the wind

to lead you in 

the right

direction

out here in the night

with the sun hiding

nervously preparing for the day

the problem with writing is the problem

with tight rope walking.

one false move...

and the birds dont appreciate flying

the words dont like the page

madness in the air

poets by the roadside

breathing

chasing poems

and the tractors in the hay field

are the real poems

and the skyscrapers own the night

and i havent had a hope

since

1989.

Reviews

[Dalebear]

Your poems are remarkable.

[emmah]

'poets by the roadside
breathing

chasing poems'

that's such a powerfully stark image - this poem is brimming with images that etch that unparalleled, misunderstood, unknown world of words in which a poet lives. you redefine that world here - make it come to life in the inanimate - 'the process, not the product' - a wise and superbly poetic friend of mine told me - to see what escapes the world - to treasure what slips through the crack - to live firmly on the margins - to home in the exclusions -

i agree - 'the tractors in the hay field - are the real poems' - so true, so true!!

[...]

. to borrow from pink floyd ... "welcome to the machine" ... a poet's relationship with words is akin to one, endless torrid romance ... and then if the two drive to the countryside ... sneak out over the weekend ... you get to see where the real work is happening ... in india ... when one travels by train ... one can open the door of a moving train ... and now they can digest women smoking ... and look at the fields and wave out to all the kids playing near the water hand pumps ... the first step is remembering the twinkle in their eyes when one returns to the city ... the second step is celebrating it ...

[JC]

and the tractors in the hay field
are the real poems....that says it all man...great poem.

[Emily B]

oh, wow!