Wednesday, July 7, 2010

If a poem isn't articulated is it a poem?

Never spoken
Never read aloud
Never whispered
Left mute in a journal

Think of a meal never tasted
Never shared
Not one given a cause to be grateful

1 comment:

  1. unjust that
    sly look in the corner
    a blaze of white
    where it never was
    such outbursts
    on the sunporch
    waving her cane
    the bugs drove us back
    and we sat in the parlour
    with the old piano
    she pumped the brass
    and dust flew
    off her old sheets
    July had its moments
    up in the hills
    silly that we said
    so often
    out of tune