I’ve been a terrible procrastinator lately. When I started this site 9 months ago, I made a commitment to post at least once per week, every Wednesday.
I had a good excuse last week. We had friends in town from Germany, and it would’ve been pretty rude to shoo them out of the guest bedroom so I could get on the computer. But they took a trip down to DC for most of this week. My only excuse for neglecting my site (and my writing) is needing some time to warm up before I get back in the game. My manuscript has also more or less collapsed and will need to be gutted and rebuilt from floor to ceiling. I’m feeling a tad sorry for myself.
So while my prose is gummed up, I thought: why not some poetry? Here’s a piece I just wrote while thinking about my re-write, both thematically and I guess personally.
I am driftwood in the ocean,
Hostage to its welter and swell,
I lift with foolish hope on the crest of waves,
To drag back in a tractionless wake,
Caught in the Universe’s laws of motion,
An object at rest prefers to stay at rest.
I never had a problem swimming with the current,
A school of fish is a happy place,
The undertow can drown,
And sharks attack in open water,
I thought that I was bold,
But I never ventured further than I could swim to shore.
I did not choose to wallow here,
It was what I saw, what I heard that chose,
A startled witness,
I did not want to see, too late,
The truth scalds like alchemy,
Changing who you are from the inside out.
I’ve become now petrified wood,
The ocean cannot keep me,
I plummet like a depth charge, crushed by psi’s,
It may be safer on the ocean floor,
An object at rest in a primordial bath,
Waiting for an organic spark to re-emerge.