Letting the Fingers Tell the Stories
Pounding, constantly pounding
on an old Brother typewriter now so antique:
letting the fingers tell the stories with fatigue,
but tons of paper I trashed improving!
Thinking, deeply thinking by delving into vivid imagery:
to bring to life scenes belonging
to a brief youth that was fleeing,
but not living it fully...it took away all joy and ingenuity!
Pounding, constantly pounding...
sipping coffee, catching breath while rewriting and editing:
I didn't have to meet a certain deadline battling hell;
no editors to appease...no rejection letters in the mail!
I haven't auctioned it on eBay;
my well-kept typewriter is stored
in the dim attic with other popular items of the day:
collection plates, baseball shirts and a crucified Lord!
Pounding, constantly pounding
on an old typewriter now so antique;
I spent endless nights by this window writing:
dreaming of fame...never considering critique!
What I cherished about fancy verses was not
their richness but their meaning;
I shouldn't have kept them short:
avoiding any revelation of personal feeling!
Pounding, constantly pounding
on keys that needed a rest on weekends and special holidays,
but dedication didn't allow any cheating:
it impelled me to think and type, letting the fingers tell the stories!
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