melissaahowells
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write your poem
he commanded but thoughts do not come that way bidden asked by way of command poems are an act of breathing coming between thoughts crowding into a brain and then spilling out onto the wall a projection of images and feelings remember when you found that projector and you threaded that reel and you moved the furniture and suddenly you had a theater and you clasped your hands in front of your mouth as you saw younger versions of people you knew as old that is poetry isn't it the past made present the unreal remade into the living the thought coaxed into breathing Eileen and Walter holding hands on a beach the waves covering their bare feet prescription cat eye sunglasses and Ray-Bans perched on their heads little white shadows around their eyes and across the bridges of their noses a large umbrella lounging in the sand Norm and Ethel Frank and Georgette grinning with their hand-woven hats and patterned Bermuda shorts toasting under a turquoise cloudless sky the flickering and the click-clacking of the end of the tape and the bedroom wall images falter where did they go the line of your smile and the better lines of the poem you were told to write vanishing how is it the lines you don't write walk away and the memory of them satisfies you more because they disappear beauty and people fade and die but the memory will always satisfy and remain turn on the projector and they return to you again this is the better poem: the natural one re-called and un-commanded. LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 2:27PM PST 6/12/2021 TIME AND DATE STAMPED INDELIBLE AND ALSO FOR THIS POET/WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY REGISTERED AND COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD.... Vote for this poem |
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