If we flung down our pens
Would anyone care
If beckoning whispers
Remained a-drift on the air?
Would it be missed
Those words never penned?
Would the wind be content
To be nothing but wind?
No low-flung melody,
Or cantankerous tone
No moody company
When we are alone
And all of the music
Which poets have sought
Would simply remain
In a casket of thought
If we flung down our pens
Would anyone care?
As agony drifts
On the tear-spangled air
And all of our want
And all of our need
Would endlessly taunt
And never would bleed
From hearts to fingers-tips
And from finger to page
From page to soft lips
on a distant stage
But the air would remain
A tightly-sealed hold
Of deathly silences
Hungry and cold
And all of our want
And all of our need
Would endlessly taunt
And never would bleed
From hearts to fingers-tips
And from finger to page
From page to soft lips
on a distant stage
But the air would remain
A tightly-sealed hold
Of deathly silences
Hungry and cold
© Janet Martin
I just finished reading mike's interview on Poetic Bloomings,
and Laurie's interview on Poet's United,
and it struck me how poet's and poetry
are so vastly different yet hold a kindred distinction!
There seems to be a great deal of symbolism in this poem...lovely workas always.
ReplyDeleteLove this one Janet... I think what you're saying translates to any type of art... I cannot imagine a world without art. Perhaps this saying sums it all up: Earth without "art" is "eh"...
ReplyDeleteOE, ;) yes. thank-you.
ReplyDeleteMegan, we agree... art is poetry, poetry is art and without it... earth definitely is 'eh':)
You know how to draw out the heart of my words in your comments, thank-you~
This describes how I've often felt about my writing. It resonates so clearly. Thanks for putting pen to paper and allowing me to connect with kindred spirits.
ReplyDeleteTim , thank-you for leaving your thoughts to remind me that I am not alone in this...'struggle' of sorts:)
ReplyDelete