i waited all month for this column to zap me with a bolt of inspiration as they’re apt to do until i had nearly despaired with three days left in june
as luck or fate would have it the theme snuck up furtively and i was thinking about it before i even knew that it was the theme of my next poetry column
pretty sneaky if you ask me
but there it was inside my head at the usual inopportune moment
the words that occurred fled and I found myself at my desk typing a description of the event like an aftermath or afterword only it isn’t
it’s more of a beginning
this is my first column that hasn’t been crammed inside my volume of verse ‘poetic reflections keep the heart of a child’
the only thing I managed to retrieve from that rushent gush of lines in one ear and out the other whispered by my muse was a single term
unstructured
which is the theme of course
so i now have to stare at the word and contemplate why it’s here
what it’s doing on my page
i assume it has something to do with the abandonment of structure
wow that is really brilliant even for me
it’s also very different for me because i tend to be a stickler for structure and adore things like paragraph indents and punctuation and capitalization yet here i am typing without the aid of those conventions which feels incredibly brave and reckless
not to mention slightly peculiar
not that there’s anything wrong with peculiarity because i rather enjoy being peculiar myself as you must know if you’ve read any of my more peculiar poems
but this truly is a stretch since i am a big fan of accuracy and correctitude when it comes to particular aspects of language and writing
other aspects i just toss out the window
it’s especially difficult for me to type the pronoun i without hitting shift
yes that takes tremendous willpower
eccentric a writer though i am i do cling to certain traditions as you can see since i have not been able to bring myself to let go of the apostrophe
i just can’t seem to pry it from my feeble grasp
oh well at least i’m doing fairly well for a scribbler as bound to the tools of writing while breaking most of the rules
and here i am shattering some more
look ma no hands i’m typing with my feet
okay not actually
i can’t lift my legs that high
and i still can’t recall the words i was supposed to write
i am left with one profound thought in my head with which to compose a poem
it’s a good thing my volume of verse is already being released or i’d have probably stuffed this into it too
no no that’s not appropriate for a poem so i must think of another profound thought
it’s tougher than i thought
i’m sure i had some earlier
oh well as usual i must pen my next poem without a single thought in my head
at least that hasn’t changed
great now i’m getting deja vu as if i don’t have enough to deal with
it’s so creepy i’ll just have to write a poem about it
unstructured
how does one communicate
with only words to use
no question marks or commas
is likely to confuse
and yet some poets manage
errant writers do as well
for me it’s very hard you see
but at least i can still spell
i won’t give up apostrophes
and spaces between terms
i shun the lack of paragraphs
as much as i hate germs
yet here i am composing
in verse and also rhyme
if i release my inhibitions
it wouldn’t be a crime
to let my spirit free
unleash my fuddydud restraint
set inner beasties loose and wild
i feel a little faint
somewhere it has to end
it’s getting too informal
without a dot to punctuate
how can my thoughts be normal
i don’t know where it’s going
it’s running quite away
i’m hanging on to what i can
of this swervent come what may
if i ever find my style again
i will be more cautious after
not to take such risks or if i do
i will have to face the laughter
yet isn’t that what i’m about
stepping out upon a limb
i like to tread where ice is frail
the ledge narrow as a whim
i prefer to challenge not accept
experiment and improvise
to try new things at least for me
incorporate surprise
or else creativeness could turn
prosaic moldy witless stale
i guess i’ll keep exploring
there’s more than one right trail
the broken dawn
an indescribable thing occurred
like the silence in a yawn
an awakening of my soul
at the breakening of dawn
right on that ecliptic precipice
the instant morning splits from night
i poised for just a second
on the edge of dark and light
it’s a fine line that we seldom glimpse
in a glance or in a stare
we can’t touch it with a fingertip
for it almost isn’t there
as i stood inside a tornado
the unblinking eye of a hurricane
air furiously hurled around me
yet all was frozen calm and sane
things pass before us every day
too swift for consciousness to grip
we cross such lines without a thought
until our step should slip
and we falter in that space between
out of balance gone too soon
far too fleet to even ponder
if we hear an eerie tune
next time i’ll take a picture
so i’ll know that i was in
the middle of the broken dawn
where the day is very thin
even slimmer than the break of dusk
when afternoon melts to sunset
more startling is the change of guard
when the rays arise from jet
as my eyes adjusted black to white
at the glare of mornful contrast
something wept in me for I could see
the division of present and past
in that tweenfold glean i understood
what such moments represent
a chance to pause on the verge of day
and rethink what life once meant
deja vu
a tingling suspicion
the sense of the familiar
a nagging supposition
that something new has been
like a speculative impulse
ringing in your head
you can’t shake this feeling
whether subtle or strong
that you’ve seen this scene before
it can flatten me like a boulder
without a warning rumble
or touch me like a feather
as fuzzy as cotton fluff
it may be light as a distant memory
or firmer than a solid wall
it might land on my head like an albatross
or worm its way inside my brain
and nest between my ears
sometimes it doesn’t go away
if i run it simply follows
i detect its footstep close behind
with an echo of similarity
i could jump into a lake and wait
my breath held tightly in my lungs
but that vexful pest would not be fooled
by tactic or diversion
like a swarm of bees it lingers
deja vu i am so tired of you
go plague some other mind
i’d like for once to not seem in a dream
or as if i’m psychically attuned
why must i think that what’s happening
is from the future or heaven sent
why ask myself time and time again
if this already was or it wasn’t
it would be really nice not to know
a walk through random places
soft respectful treads
the footfalls of a wanderous heart
without a destination
without a place to start
a stir of leafen boughs
the whisper of a breeze
and rustle of my clothing
i am grateful for all these
a dip or slant ahead
the mystery of an unpaved lane
a glint of sun across my journey
i cannot complain
do i blaze a trail
or trail behind
am i leading the way
or being led to find
greener fields unfurrowed plains
another place another day
a scattered promise to the wind
the randomness of where to stay
an undecided morrow
a restlessness inside
the yearning ache of something more
of what is left untried
where will my stumbling gait lead to
i cannot see that far
i am following the path i’m on
as i pen my life’s memoir
when i’m there perhaps i’ll know
or perhaps i never will
it’s the steps that truly matter
whether up or down the hill
there is no highest point
only steps along the hill