So It’s Monday, and I’m…

…mucking around with some poetry. I’ve had a ‘creativity break’ the last few weeks as I got ready for the book launch, decided to teach English in Prague, found a new part time job, and dealt with some lovely times in the local hospital. No big, guys. Now, it’s time to get back to work. I mean, you know, the work that I like.

I’ve been doing a lot of brainstorming for Path of Pins (the sequel to Path of Needles, which by the way have you bought a copy yet?) and work on the website, but lately I’ve felt the itch to do some more challenging writing. This, for me, means poems and short stories. Not that writing a novel is easy. It’s not. But narration in long form takes a different kind of stamina. The shorter forms (short stories, poems, etc) give a little more room for intense bursts of emotion and the opportunity to try new, challenging things. Also I just love the little buggers. I even have one up here on the site, titled Pompeii. 

This is what I did last night. The picture I found here: http://www.summitpost.org/a-gloomy-thomas-lake/658966. Tried a few new things with this one- a really long title, bit of a rambly style, and the addition of asides in parenthesis. Actually that last one isn’t really new, I’ve done that before. Whatever.

I won’t try and say what this is about. I think poetry- all writing, really- takes on new meaning for every reader. People will all get something different out of it, even if that something is ‘Jeez this poem is rotten.’

So. Have a poem.

“Things aren’t that bad, y’know? I could do anything I want. I was thinking the other day that I should travel more. Maybe write something. Maybe make something big.”

You are not rudderless

but your oars are too small.

(You will not make it across the lake.)

You trail gold stars like promise (potential)(unfilled)(they didn’t say it would be so hard)

A thin trail marks your passage

soon gone

floating (impotent) on the water.

It’s a bit like a funeral; those burning stars

were dead the moment you

stepped into the boat.

(You will not)

(I’m sorry)

(but you will not make it.)

What Might Have Been is a salesman

that perches on your shoulders.

He is heavy; he weighs you down.

The boat sinks further into the surface.

You glance at him, he is only shadow;

but you are shadow too.

(No)

(The boat sinks deeper)

(You stopped rowing long ago)

Together you paddle across the lake.

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