backtotop

Categories: Writing

I don’t write poetry. I teach poetry, I study poetry, I sometimes read poetry for pleasure, but I just don’t write it. I’m a prose writer; poetry is the opposite of prose.

But sometimes it comes out of me. Randa Lane has been sharing poetry with me lately, and it’s got me thinking about poetry, and this thing just sort of bubbled up on the long drive to work this morning. I actually dictated the rough lines into my iPhone on the highway. I won’t comment on its quality, just leave it here for the world to scrutinize.

I want to run

Hands behind the line
Crouched at the block
Didn’t even know I was
Waiting for the pistol

Now the race has started
And everyone tells me
Slow down!
It’s a marathon
Not a sprint

But I want to sprint

I want to run away
Because it hurts

I want to run away
From fear and grief
Failure and guilt

I want to run
Until the land runs out
Across the sandy beach
Into the water
Dive in
Swim out

Maybe the briny deep
Will drag me down
Furious undertow
Lost to the dark

Or maybe the seminal surf
Will lift me up
Botticelli-style
Back into the world


Comments

( 0 Comments )

pi314chron says:

Oooooh! VERY nice! LOVE “seminal surf”; will have to look up the Bowl-of-chili allusion!
Again, just superb poem. Strongly felt emotions often make for the best poetry…sometimes not. Your “I Want to Run” is in the former category.

A Close Friend of Randa

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