Each Poem Slips

Each poem slips
away after its
writing,
reminding me that
I am no master.

I saw one last
Saturday, in
a street woman’s
knitting. It winked at
me – a pearl precious and precocious
in its own way.

Yesterday
one summoned me
to look up – it was pine red
sated against blue sky, white cloud.
Greening me, it framed a future.

Like children spoon feeding
mother, father, these
poems I’ve raised
raze me. So I
begin again.

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14 thoughts on “Each Poem Slips

  1. dianerivers says:

    This might be my favorite one yet ~ playful and imaginative; every time I read it I see something else to enjoy. I love what you did here!

  2. Marie Taylor says:

    Lovely, lovely. Such a wonderful image – spoon feeding poems that wink. 🙂

  3. Thanks for this wonderful poem…back to your elusive, slippery, foreshadowing, leaning language. This reminded me of a poem by De Coninck where the poet asks: “where did you learn the art of not lasting long?” The idea that poetry razes us is terrible and lovely, both. Thank-you.

  4. shoreacres says:

    My favorite image is held in the first lines – “Each poem slips away after its writing…” It seems to connect with the reference to chidren near the end and it’s a delightful conceit – poems like children, impatient and eager to get back out into the world to play.

  5. agjorgenson says:

    Thanks, that’s what I was aiming for: the image of the irrepressible playfulness of poetry even while recognizing that play can also be very serious business.

  6. Denise Hisey says:

    Wonderful!! Just wonderful!

  7. jannatwrites says:

    There is poetry in so much of life, if we stop to look at it. I like the line about how the poem slips away after it is written.

  8. agjorgenson says:

    I completely agree.. but how do we develop eyes and ears able to see and hear it? That is my question.

  9. The stanzas wedge out like the tips of sails.

  10. agjorgenson says:

    So they do! Many thanks for noticing that-

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