"I miss your poetry. Please join us today, our topic is love and romance." I scowled and quickly jotted a first draft:
She asked me to write of love and romance
and all I can think of is other poet's lines:
Gibran said, "Work is love made visible."
and Browning croons, "“Grow old with me,
the best is yet to be.” and I growl,
I pace, I grumble and pout and stammer
Mary Oliver taps on my shoulder, looks
me in the eye and soulfully states:
"“I have been in love more times than one,
thank the Lord."
I quote Pat Benatar lyrics,
"Love is a battlefield" and shout
J. Geils, "Love stinks" and my own,
"Love doesn't read my poetry
anyway so why bother, really?"
My socks are wet
I'm still wearing my jammies
and I am expected to
be inspiring to many in
just 30 minutes
What does love have to say about that?
I feel a sense of smiling between
my shoulder blades
I take a gulp of now cold coffee
I choose to stop grousing and
start writing
because more than once
my love has been found
first there, between and
among the words
even becoming
the love, itself
I may not know love like
Robert and Elizabeth
or Rumi and Shams or
Mary and Molly or
those tricky kids
Romeo and Juliet AND
I do have word-love
I'll write to that...
= = = = =
Every day we have a choice to write or to not write. We have a choice to write poetry or to not write poetry.
It is that simple.
It is a privilege.
What will you do?
-- Julie Jordan Scott
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