fallen verses

Ginsberg howled, I’ll just speak softly.

The ladies over at Fertile Ground have asked for Poetic Mission Statements, and I admit, I don’t have one. I do not have a mission for being a writer or poet, I simply cannot conceive of not writing. As I go through life, through every day, I see things, events, experiences and I have to write about them. Perhaps its OCD, I don’t know, I have thus far avoided mental health professionals. I write because to not write is not an option. Even if it never gets “written,” I’m still in my head making verses.

A perfect example of that is watching television tonight. An event during “Brothers & Sisters” lead me to writing the poem below. It inspired a line which led me to start composing and thinking, “gee, this might work as a villanelle and I am totally masochistic enough to try to write another villanelle.” It was easier the second time around to think in terms of repetition and rhyme, and I think it turned out better than the first one (for the especially curious, here). I think I’ll still stick with free verse, but the more formal writing I’ve had to do for my class isn’t as bad as I usually expect. I don’t think I’ll ever be a sonneteer, but maybe one or two.

Click of a Latch

When the door closes, you fall
to your knees, head held low,
and you stare unseeing at the wall.

In the sudden silence, the sudden pall,
your mind jumps but cannot know.
When the door closes, you fall

and indecision is like a plane in stall.
Reality now unreal as they go,
and you stare unseeing at the wall

as if there were answers at all,
but no. This past unwanted, so
when the door closes, you fall

and in comparison you see how small
you are in your life: a supporting role.
You stare unseeing at the wall,

slumped in the cramped entry hall
and watch the one you love coolly go…
When the door closes, you fall
and you stare unseeing at the wall.