Saturday, May 16, 2009

The Lives of Poems

When poems rain down
on my head like treasures
from heaven - I feast on them,
inhale them, rub them
all over me, lay down and roll
in their ineffable presence.

Each image is pondered,
prayed for, decided upon.
Once achieved - I speak my
well-birthed progeny into being.

Then, for a time, like children,
they forsake me, evacuate
the premises and leave me
marooned on a poemless island
of despair and concern.
I quietly wait and pray
for their safe return.

4 comments:

Poetikat said...

Prayed for...birthed, childless once more. Empty nest syndrome, until they return to do their dirty laundry.

Kat

LORENZO said...

A sad day when the poems stop raining. Good stuff here.Anyone who writes can find the power in your images. Well done. LL

Linda S. Socha said...

Love this one Diane. Powerful and moving images
Linda

RachelW said...

Those pausese are so frightening. I think we need a rain dance for poetry!