Poem for Willum

for Willum

I wrote on him wall. ‘off to the races.’

a chicken’s dream on sunday

talking horse play on the porch

I didn’t know what to do when I did.

but it happened, and moved on


good poetry came out of this night

all the good poems fluttering around to be grabbed


it was so easy to do what we did

and we weren’t doing a thing wrong

nor wronging anyone in the whole world

even just to have done that, to not wrong for even a second

can we ever in certainty say this without fear of reprove

and is our fear a sign of guilt and shame

or heightened sensitivity to the wrongs we do.

call god a she, say the lords prayer.

go take a piss.

recite as you walk to your tree.

before the poet can write without ego she must examine her ego

bear it explore it and come to terms

terms mean tears most times

but still,


in this room of rain walls

this blue room

shadow mother

sister brother

morphing reptiles have eaten my family.

and replaced them with their duplicates.

who seduce me with love and understanding.

then to what purpose

well I can’t but wait and see


if that I don’t

still won’t be quit of.

No comments:

Post a Comment