This poet thinks she’s me,
and furthermore that her work is mediocre,
and furthermore to that (further-further-more?)
that she must do it, can’t help it, can't walk away.
‘The stars are green and gold’ she wants to say
right now, but I censor that. It comes in
out of nowhere. It’s a nonsense.
She says it’s pretty. I say, ‘But….’
It has to have a place in the poem, see.
And this is a poem about this poet
who imagines herself to be me, or conversely
that I am she, capital-P Poet.
Clearly, I am more:
widow, former librarian, friend, cat-lover, witch …
all right all right, so they get into the poems.
So maybe there is only one poet/me. Then,
am I also green-gold stars? (Am I nonsense?)
Written for Literary Excursions with Kerry ~ Metafiction at 'imaginary garden with real toads'
Oh my gosh, that ending is phenomenal!!!
ReplyDelete"I am green
and cold, gold stars,
wanting
to come together
but managing instead
to un-
constellation myself
into
a flailing mist
of clover
(op)pressed against
moldy bread and honey-
bee
flavored pee."
;)
Wow, wonderful response, thank you!
DeleteYou described the process of writing so elegantly!❤️ We do tend to tweak our poems a bit *wink wink*❤️
ReplyDeleteI love it, Rosemary! I could be saying all this too if I was poet enough. I like especially, "that she must do it, can’t help it, can't walk away." Not stopping me from writing, I can't help but write. You also.
ReplyDelete..
How I enjoyed your dual personality, very very entertaining ( P) poem
ReplyDeleteMuch love...
You are more than a poet, and so are we all. What a delightful read and well written too. Warm greetings!
ReplyDelete"that she must do it, can’t help it, can't walk away".. That's a poet for sure, at least I know I feel that way also, good or bad, or indifferent there is an urge.
ReplyDeleteI love the voice of this poem, wonderfully self-aware. Perhaps I relate because I have conversations with myself all the time, and not always sotto voce.
ReplyDeleteI love this, as well as the green gold stars!
ReplyDeleteYes, yes. We poets are all green-gold stars. Love this reminder to let our poems go where they want to -- a call for free-range poetry despite our writer selves reining them in.
ReplyDeleteIt's the dance with "green-gold stars" that seasons poetry... and mirth. :-)
ReplyDeleteSometimes I cannot bear my own writing... even decapitating the p... what's an oet?
ReplyDeleteVery cleverly written. (the stars meet)
ReplyDeleteyou are an amalgamation of everything! :)
ReplyDeleteI love this meta poem :D
This is my favorite part:
ReplyDelete"she must do it, can’t help it, can't walk away.
‘The stars are green and gold’ she wants to say
right now, but I censor that."
A poem of insight and wit, beautifully expressed: to be read again and again. Thank you Rosemary :)
ReplyDeleteReally like the internal dialogue, such a good rea here.
ReplyDelete