Tepid poetry
Loving the Valley
Eager stars widen
In the flush of vermillion
To black. The thin rack
Of a cloud-marred horizon
Flat and slack
Like lacking scansion
Skewers the vision
Infinitely.
The image glares
Through amazed eyelids
Too fazed to return the stare
Until later.
Much later, in the bare
Scowls of jealous furniture
Too mundane to be penned,
I write the twilight
Between the scribbled rends of
Frustration - at stubborn skies that resist
Description, or
Transcription. Such starry
Elation will not translate
but I
Persist
In enlisting a gasping lexis
Of word-weary adjectives, and
Similes and metres and metaphors and
What for? For the evocation
Of whitened elation that
Creeps up in me like
Widened amnesia dimming, like
The Valley slowly unfolding to love as dawn
Breaks, as stars lighten and quieten
In the cool hush
And fresh whiteness of
New morning blush.
NB: This "poem" refers to this poem.
I posted this poem as a record of the baby steps. Everything creative in me is lukewarm and listless, a little like used bathwater. This is the first poem I have expended energy on, albeit the levels of energy intrinsic in potted plants or small rocks. Be gentle.
Too often, I look back on my old writing and cringe. Alas, in the case of this poem, I already find it immature and cringeworthy, and it's barely been three hours since I wrote it. Sigh.