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My Writing Dream
I will write and it will write me.
I will write a pomegranate making
light spill across your table
and when umbrellas glazed with light are like salt and pepper shakers under
rain-shaken Chicago stars, falling,
falling, as we all fall through our coping-webs
and land in our screams ringing
inside our mysterious heartminds.
I will write a screenplay and
who says I can’t write a novel on
my bedroom walls, who says no,
for I will show it to the bewildered landlord
and I will write right on down the sidewalk
writing my crazy novel too whipperwhole for a typewriter
and too fragile for words to hold on paper.
I will write war-whoops and ballads
and I will write all night on a Metra
and I will write sonatas and sonatinas
and I will write inside hot air balloons
and I will write on Santa’s lap aboard an airplane wing
looking at life like a lion looks at a ladybug,
finding poetry in the way a drunk man eats a marshmallow
and in sticky preschoolers using sleepover nailgloss,
and in the sweetsingers roaming my street.
I will find poetry and it will find me
sweaty and staggering down the escalator
lugging my dormant freight of strollers and ideas.
Poetry is a pumpkin and I will carve it
till the scent of seeds and strings makes
your nostrils trill like a new saxophone,
till the pumpkin shell is hollow for Halloween pie,
till the holes carved in the pumpkin
fill up with candles.
I will stand in awe
as the fragile light
escapes the cracks of poetry
and like a rocket
reaches beyond the sky.
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This article has 2 comments.
a word of advice: if youre ever lonly or unsatisified- DO NOT PROMISE THAT SOMEDAY YOU'LL BE HAPPY. its an awful cycle and i no longer trust someday and i hate dreams. please avoid that path.
I followed a writing prompt that said to spontaneously write a poem about my writing goal. I guess they had in mind a solid plan for a book or memoir, but I got wild and came up with this.