And another...
from when I had great scads of time to write
18 December, 1998
From poetry’s forest, sincerely…
I wandered in with the best
of intentions
to poetry’s forest, but after
wandering, lost,
encountering strange
manners of men
and wimyn,
I felt crushed,
pedestrian,
behind-the times.
How could one small woman
(with an o and an a, half-man)
hope to survive
in this deepdark forest,
where the predators
smile
and the prey is all
dissected -- but still alive --
hiding crouched in corners
watching the lions
tear apart
their hearts.
But still -
I am neither as small
nor as young
as I may appear.
And my heart has been rent before
and my eyes stolen.
And my intentions - the best, I’ve said.
Are the most urgent.
I cannot leave the forest,
for to tread the plains is to die,
to walk the forest, merely to suffer.
18 December, 1998
From poetry’s forest, sincerely…
I wandered in with the best
of intentions
to poetry’s forest, but after
wandering, lost,
encountering strange
manners of men
and wimyn,
I felt crushed,
pedestrian,
behind-the times.
How could one small woman
(with an o and an a, half-man)
hope to survive
in this deepdark forest,
where the predators
smile
and the prey is all
dissected -- but still alive --
hiding crouched in corners
watching the lions
tear apart
their hearts.
But still -
I am neither as small
nor as young
as I may appear.
And my heart has been rent before
and my eyes stolen.
And my intentions - the best, I’ve said.
Are the most urgent.
I cannot leave the forest,
for to tread the plains is to die,
to walk the forest, merely to suffer.