Friday, April 16, 2010

april post-a-poem {6}

my words precede me
deceive me
perceive me
releive me
in a way that no one else's can.

they fly from my fingers
like barn swallows
fluttering and flickering
at the edge of an unfinished thought.

i can't always gather them in
they fly in a flock
they spriral and swoop
and when i try to contain them
they peck at my brain
begging to be let back out to play.

i release them
in hopes
they will find their way back to me.


Nat said...

There is a story I heard about a poet Ruth Stone who used to run into the house when she had a poem coming. Sometimes she would catch the poem and it would come out... perfectly ... backward.

I heard it here. (My favourite TED talk ever)

mrs mediocrity said...

And they will find their way home, eventually. That was lovely, and I love the photo as well...

spread your wings said...

love love this.

Relyn said...

Oh!! OH MY!!! This is so perfectly, perfectly me. So perfectly you. So perfectly all of us who are writers because of the drive deep in our bones. LOVE THIS!!