Member-only story
Poet-making
Catching rain in a tea strainer
is never an easy task but alas,
it requires caution, a swift hand,
the steady eye of patience.
With mutable myths and malformed whims
lies the secret bounty of the skies,
beckoning hunters, keen with hunger,
for sole knowledge of their prize.
Though I confess, cryptic cumulonimbus
feeds on ill obsession, the restless
committed to the craft, picking drafts
and syllabic slant that at last,
a storm is
just a storm. Not quite
a story anymore.
If you follow this road, do remember
the willingness to carry momentos
is essential. Cram pockets with scavenged
things you once and never treasured.
Saturday laundry, a Sunday letter,
demanding to be done eventually.
The promise made for a friend thrice over,
vowing to be done eventually.
And eventually you may discern
from the pieces you have earned,
a common thread, a winding beat
to line the page you plan to keep.
No “Ars Poetica”, no clear aim
need cramp the torrent of your thoughts.
As raindrops streak an empty glass,
let guidance be no more than that.
