When it all gets too much, write a poem

Original image distorted by Lucy

Huh!
You thought it would be easy!
After all, wasn't your brain firing off
in a trillion different places just then?
Wasn't emotion surging through you
like a hurricane through Florida?
But now, sitting as you do,
at your keyboard
the ghosts have vacated
the brain has frozen
the s-urge is no more!
And all that's left
is a sickening suspense
a diary of unfinished thoughts
a mausoleum of hidden decay
an unresolved tragedy
a gaping wound
with no chance of healing.
Huh!

Go home!
It's all over
for now
Settle yourself
Find something else
to do
You should know by now
it's all over
long, long before
you realize.

Forget my advice
When it all gets too much
curse loudly into the wind
The ghosts will pick it up
and torment someone else instead
We hope.

Just don't
don't write a poem
Don't consecrate
the sacrilege
with your ritual of
fine words and provoking metaphors
Such symbols are wasted
in the wasteland of phantom emotions

Oh, but what the hell
If you must
then write
write a poem
when it all gets too much.

(Not) A weather report

Image from Lucy's album

My attention is torn from my writing
by the sudden, raucous rustling of leaves
in the high, sprawling branches of the fig trees
unfurling noisily in blasts of wind
like waves
in a grumbling ocean
whose roar grows very loud
then recedes into
disquieting periods of
quiet

They are lusty and strong, these leaves
Spring's latest and uncontrolled litter
Thrusting upward and spread flat
Harvesting sunlight to fuel
organic factories

We have a mutual respect, I think,
for each other
though not necessarily, mutual
benefit
I cannot help but think that I have
given them little
while they have given me
so much more