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POETRY…

Poetry – two sticks with which to interrogate a frog, hold up a cardboard box in quest of pigeon’s freedom.  A petal-less flower weeping in an early frost, a squirrel hiding acorns he will never find but his offspring will climb.  Solitary footprints erased in a sadly silent surf, a seagull screeching at the howling wind.  Words elevated on the updraft of unfathomed emotions, falling helplessly into an ever darkening void.  A voice scratching across a vast expanse of unshadowed doubt,
forming the shape and soul of a moment.  Two hands venturing into the realm of words, reaching ever closer to the thrill of touch, the pain of separation, the ecstasy
of eternity’s now.  A flint possessing the power of a conflagration scorching the edges of imagination.  A child kissing the wings of a butterfly, laughing at fluttering snowflakes.  A lonely street lost in the clutter of windblown debris,
shimmering in the light of swaying street lights, its history clinging to withered branches.  The soft grip of an infant telling you “it will be ok”.  The sound of a pen confessing, a lover repenting, the laughter of life – crying out.  A tepid intimacy shared by unmet lovers – alone yet somehow together.  


John G. Lawless
©2/23/2019

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