Sometimes
The Words are Slow
A few
Then a few more
The brain grasps
and then it finds some and
more fluently begins to sing
A little at a time
then more a little slowly
a pause
a toe pushes off again
the topic comes, the feelings flow
the rhythm grows and becomes steady
the words become a stream
whispering like the splash of water
along the creek beds
with a musical laugh where the trees lean in
and the birds sing harmony
on quiet summer afternoons
along the rhythm, the entire song
the creaking whine of the chains like violins
in the melody of thoughts on the porch.
I haven’t written poetry (at least don’t remember writing any) since a course in college (never graduated from college, but I have a few courses over the years) in the very early 90s. This was written as a reflection on my Porch Thoughts - the rhythm of the swing with my words. I have a few people I am subscribed to on here who are poets of some skill, and I enjoyed poetry long ago before life got busy, I raised kids and worked full-time — before the usual things in modern life that crowd out quiet thought and time to breathe.
Would you like to see more poetry? I also have some prose (including a couple of novels) saved on my laptop, with plans to add a space for fiction on this space. Would you be interested in things that aren’t about politics and current events? I would love your feedback! Thank you for the time you spend considering the possibility.