Thursday, 19 January 2017

A Poem A Day 13.

My Life is Not a Poem.

My life is not a poem.
It’s not tidy or concise
There is no rhyme or reason
And some parts aren’t very nice.
My friendships are haphazard. 
My career is on the blink,
and more time than I‘ll admit
Is spent with dishes in the sink.
There is no rhyme or reason
for so much of what occurs,
yet moments happen anyway,
that make me stop, or pause,
and catch my breath in wonder,
like the sunlight after rain,
and the flocks of cockatoos
flying in the afternoon
and the wonder of my children
and the faithfulness of friends
and the way that sharing insights
makes connections of loose ends.
And perhaps the work of poetry
Is just to speak this out;
to remind us of our resonance
with universal things
and help us see the beauty
and the truth in everyday
and the way we are connected
in a feeling, human, way.

It seems that whenever I'm stuck, I resort to rhyme.  I think, perhaps, Judith Wright was correct, when she said "Free verse is harder to pull off than rhyme".  This is an excuse for a poem - today had me coming up dry.  However, the sentiment is one I genuinely agree with. 

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