Like many others, I've been re-reading the remarkable poetry of Maya Angelou. Like many others, I have a certain faith in the turgent power of poems. Occasionally, I draft a poem myself. When I started writing poetry, I used the long-hand, crossed-out, legal-pad approach. Instead, here is today's quick-tap burst, posted quickly in a fit of foolish bravery, destined most likely for revision, rather jumbled like my life right now. Heh.
Must life rhyme?
Does a shelf need book ends?
Or can our words tumble and climb
From unruly disorderly pens?
Must my story be true?
Do I need to check all the facts?
Or can my evolving point of view
Be elegant and still be relaxed?
Should we stay in lanes
For aligning the politically correct?
How uniformly far will the marching campaigns
Follow feather-plucked and hen-pecked?
Must we drive by on speed-pass?
Shall we take time out to ponder?
Or at day’s end, will I querulously ask
Where was my heart's hot wonder?