note
i look at a note I jotted down
a thought
a revelation
an expression of truth
I trace my fingers over the loops and bends
I cannot remember what I wrote
and I cannot read my writing
-zumwwalt (1991)
i look at a note I jotted down
a thought
a revelation
an expression of truth
I trace my fingers over the loops and bends
I cannot remember what I wrote
and I cannot read my writing
-zumwwalt (1991)
Category:
1991, N, short poems, Zumwalt
Tagged with:
plenty of structure
repeat every action
deftly
neatly
perfectly
until its actuality sinks --
deeply embedded into experience
making the way safe
for any other action
she felt so very much alone growing up
that she is uncertain she ever made it
she understood so little then
that she easily accepts false knowledge now
holding onto it more firmly than she has ever been held
the past
stumbles around
a
run-
down
down-
town disoriented
sometimes getting on a bus
only to be chased back into the street
not feeling safe and not far away
the present stays locked in an air conditioned hotel
facing the window
trying to recognize the homeless vagabond below
she thinks thinking will solve her problems
but doesn't want to think about it
she looks for a solution
where she can see it all
without ever having to look
backing away from the window
driven by the unclear image that remains
checking the doorknob as well as the latch
present makes a promise
that
it's going to be the last time
-zumwalt (1991)
slabs of concrete
grab
pen
man
hold tight as might can
put the reigns in teeth of steel
in jaws of iron
neath mind of gold unmined
steer this silent steed sub-subway speed
over common ground
which tread upon
was forgotten
remembered
and cast incautiously
... permanently?
... coherently?
such hunkish chunks of memory
unevenly
into hand-picked
brick-thick
quick-hardening slabs of concrete
-zumwalt (1991)
"The real artist and creative force is the reader, not the poet."
-- Zumwalt