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vaneramosI am the siren:
I need to find lyrics
for the perilous tune in my head.
It calls to sailors.
They forget their paths on the sea.
It draws their ships to founder
and sink near these rocks.
Men go down
swallowing mysterious waters.
A thousand love stories fall silent
on a thousand pairs of lips
in an endless place of death.
If I could find words
for the song in my head
I might turn the tide of destruction.
Men fall asleep in the depths
but I am the lost one.
~~~~
This journal has compelled me to start writing poetry again at last. But how dark it all is! I'm not used to this and don't know what it means. The problem with poetry is I have no choice. It comes from somewhere else. I just open a notebook, hold the pen on the page and let it move. It's something like Annie Dillard described in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, putting herself in the path of light. You can't go out expecting to find the light. All you can do is walk around outside and wait for what comes to you.
I need to find lyrics
for the perilous tune in my head.
It calls to sailors.
They forget their paths on the sea.
It draws their ships to founder
and sink near these rocks.
Men go down
swallowing mysterious waters.
A thousand love stories fall silent
on a thousand pairs of lips
in an endless place of death.
If I could find words
for the song in my head
I might turn the tide of destruction.
Men fall asleep in the depths
but I am the lost one.
~~~~
This journal has compelled me to start writing poetry again at last. But how dark it all is! I'm not used to this and don't know what it means. The problem with poetry is I have no choice. It comes from somewhere else. I just open a notebook, hold the pen on the page and let it move. It's something like Annie Dillard described in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, putting herself in the path of light. You can't go out expecting to find the light. All you can do is walk around outside and wait for what comes to you.
