Sunday, August 13, 2006

POEM: Writing a Poem

What he had that morning
was a blue pencil on his desk,
a silver car on the street outside,
and a land of sunlight beyond.
You might say it wasn’t much,
but he smiled
and started to work.
First he let the pencil
sway across a piece of paper,
side to side,
for about fifteen minutes.
Then he imagined those words
riding in the silver car
like lucky winners of a contest.
The car passed over hills
in a vast land
until it was painted with pure light,
and then he imagined it
stopping again just outside his house.
The words stepped out of the car
and into his room
and on to the piece of paper,
where they sat down
the way a new poem should.

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