Poetry: Untitled #10 and 11
Pushing a book truck
Across the worn, pilled carpet,
I pass a window:Silently thronging the air,
Snowflakes drift earthward. Surprise!
Inspired by yesterday's weather, composed primarily on the edge of sleep last night, and -- mirabile dictu! -- not forgotten by dawn, this poem does not explain why I then dreamed about commuting barefoot to work during a summer flood. Eugh.
This popped up this morning, in response to another poet's frustration with tanka-writing:
Trying and failing
And trying again, to fail
Better, as he said(Who knew better than any
The power of subtraction.)
Crossposted to just_tanka here and here.
Across the worn, pilled carpet,
I pass a window:Silently thronging the air,
Snowflakes drift earthward. Surprise!
Inspired by yesterday's weather, composed primarily on the edge of sleep last night, and -- mirabile dictu! -- not forgotten by dawn, this poem does not explain why I then dreamed about commuting barefoot to work during a summer flood. Eugh.
This popped up this morning, in response to another poet's frustration with tanka-writing:
Trying and failing
And trying again, to fail
Better, as he said(Who knew better than any
The power of subtraction.)
Crossposted to just_tanka here and here.