Tuesday, 20 October 2015

Proof that I'm no poet

I was really bored on the flight from Calgary to Victoria. With the turbulence, reading made me sick, and I felt like I had been knitting all day. My seatmate's long legs kept me from digging around in my bag for my headphones. I used to write poetry when I was a teenager. None of it was any good. Nor is this one. I always feel cheesy or fake when I try to be poetic. Additionally, I have no clue about poetry's conventions and rules. Enjoy!

The sunset taunts as it lays
on a horizon of blue-grey cloud
spread in drifts far below me.

Ever before me in my westward journey,
never changing, never setting.

It rests and waits for me,
its smooth orange glow
holding a promise of the rest
that I know I will find eventually.

Until then, I fly,
sitting too long and thinking too much.

My fingers fly too, with needles and yarn,
as my mind, awkward and rusty,
composes poetic nonsense
from a muse long banished. 

Calgary at dusk. 

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