Thursday, September 10, 2009

Starting to write poetry wasn’t
the best idea I’ve ever had.
It all seemed so innocent.
A limerick or two, a lousy ballad,
love poems so bad they hurt.
That is all it was ever meant to be.
I would have been happy with that.
Then the poetry turned into songs,
each one filled with its own music.
The words became Shamans, holding
mysteries, and the answers to mysteries.
Suddenly, it seems, I am become a midwife
trying at the least to not drop a poem on its head,
at most hold it up to the sun and announce
“ Here is another.”

1 comment:

  1. Hey, Mike, LOVE this poem... And the one above it--good stuff!