In writing, and in my case poetry, when the brain goes on hiatus for a period of time, there is always the fear that when the writing comes back you will have lost a step or two. What I've discovered over the years that even after twelve years of basically no-writing, unlike ballet or other physical skills that require constant practice, the brain picks up where you left it, and that is always a relief. And a joy.
I want to post this, not because it's good, necessarily, but because for the first time in a very long time I have written something that I actually wanted to revise.
(later, much much later) Let's just say this has been a classic exercise in putting wings on a rock and maybe if I throw it enough times it will learn to fly...
at the darkest part of the night
when the moon has set and the stars
weep with weariness
he leans over the side of the boat
flirting with his center of gravity
looks down into the terrifying cold and dark
in the primal part of the ocean
where light
never reaches the bottom
not knowing why but knowing he must,
not knowing what he's looking for
only that it's there
somewhere
calling him from a long way down
every night he goes out armed
with periscopes
until he finds what he was searching for
leans too far into it
and becomes part of the ocean,
part of the dark and the cold
--------------------------------------------------------------
Siren
after the moon has set and the stars
begin to shimmer with weariness
he leans over the side of the boat
flirting with his center of gravity
looks down into a place where light
never reaches the bottom
not knowing why but knowing he must,
not knowing what he's looking for
only that it's there
somewhere
beckoning from a long way down
every night he goes out armed
with periscopes
until he finds what he was searching for
leans too far into it
becomes part of the ocean,
part of the dark and the cold
--------------------------------------------------
Siren (3)
he leans over the side of the boat
flirting with his center of gravity
looks down into a place where light
never reaches the bottom
not knowing why but knowing he must,
not knowing what he's looking for
only that it's there
somewhere
beckoning from a long way down
every night after the moon has set
and the stars seem to shimmer with weariness
he goes out armed with periscopes
and sounding lines
until he finds what he was searching for
leans too far into it
becomes part of the ocean,
part of the reflection
of stars on dark water
----------------------------------------------
Siren (4)
not knowing why but knowing he must,
not knowing what he's looking for
only that it's there
somewhere
beckoning from a long way down
every night after the moon has set
and the stars seem to shimmer with weariness
he goes out armed with searchlights
and sounding lines
leans over the side of the boat
looking down into a place
where light never reaches the bottom
he finds what he was searching for
leans too far into it
becomes part of the ocean,
part of the reflection
of stars on dark water
