A Poem is Hardly a Poem

Bob, , , 
Distance is the moth wing 
That smells like a lunar landing.


Our solar system began as a gaseous 
Cloud.

The autumn leaves this year began 
As blue typewriters.


A poem is hardly a poem, said
Vortex and valise. Said the sea, 
What is the meaning of wind
In the trees?


Homesick for what is unfinished
Like leaving a dream to go to another dream.

23 thoughts on “A Poem is Hardly a Poem”

  1. The whole poem is a dream of parts of our universe that typically don’t hang out in the same sentence….”the autumn leaves began as blue typewriters.” Fantastic imagery and the ending Bob, very inspiring…”homesick for what is unfinished a dream to another dream” really nails that longing for the inspiration and muse we’ve discussed…where does it go? and then kind of out of nowhere, it returns.

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    1. The muse has been reluctant. And the spring weather can’t get hear fast enough. I’m glad you liked this one. It’s sunny today, but cold. Still going to get out there for a walk. Or maybe head to the river and look for driftwood.

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