Poetry

No, it’s not over. I’m still here. And it’s not that there hasn’t been plenty to say. I just haven’t. The assigned theme for poetry group last week was writer’s block. This is what I wrote:     

                            

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A variation of what I wrote in November. October had enough inspiration in it to keep me making poems for years to come, but I’m better at finding poetry than at making it. Yesterday I found it in the sky; birds. They were not geese and there was no V formation. No MC Escher imitation of birds turning in sync, now snowy breast, now silver wing. Just birds. Black ones, plain and graceless and all the more beautiful because. They reminded me of this by Gerard Manley Hopkins:      

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things–      

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;      

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;      

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;      

Landscape plotted and pieced–fold, fallow, and plough;      

And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.      

All things counter, original, spare, strange;      

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)      

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;      

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:      

Praise Him.

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