And I Am Called To Be A Poet


And I am called to be a poet.
Mad with boredom.
Flinching from finality.
Doused by depression.

And I must write power into being.
And then I must raze the building
and pick up ashen bricks of nouns
and verbs and begin building all
over again.


It’s not perfect.
The poem is stacked crookedly
and I must now stand beside it
while the parade passes me by.


  1. I hope I can comment here, that it will go through. But, pls know, I LOVE receiving your writing via regular email. It’s a different experience. Can’t post as a ‘share’ so much but like how I can focus in without the distraction of FB notices, etc. I can actually HEAR what you write. Like this one very much. Methinks that sometimes this grrr state is called ‘anxiety’. It will pass. It’s hard to resurrect a website, lots to do. I am working on that myself right now. I simply want to write my Blog but instead must create the whole framework for it, bits and pieces. Don’t want to assume we experience it the same…but perhaps some similarities. LOVE….


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