Madness files my
nails
to repetition…I
look for
answers to form from
dried ink on my
fingertips,
curse their
silence, and
tap them together
in
hollow applause
hoping
to encourage flesh
to see what I can’t
hear.
Minutes turn into
hours
as I doggedly
repeat
what doesn’t work,
and blame the
clock
for what my mind
can’t speak.
Have you ever
tried to write
the color of the
sun as it burns
a rose from red to
brown?
It can’t be just
yellow or orange
because the
bloodletting of petals
is too sinister to
be addressed
from a primary box
of crayons.
Blind…all seeing…somewhere
in between?
Visions and words
alphabet my eyelids
yet nothing stays
long enough for my pen
to collect a
sentence of worth.
A poet…pfft! Perhaps
I am…Maybe not.
There is a certain
insanity about staring
at white paper
hoping it will be blighted by ink.
Susie Clevenger
2021
Comments
"the bloodletting of petals
is too sinister to be addressed
from a primary box of crayons."
My takeaway from this is that it is complicated and it is painful. I love your comparing flower petals to poetry <3
Happy Sunday. Thank you for droppibg by my blog today
Much💛love
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p.s. The ajhoven73 is an old email that haunts me. I cannot read, hence answer those messages. In fact, I didn't like gmail so I never used it from the start. But google glommed on to it.
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