I can't say with any certainty, how many poems I've written in the 784 years I've been alive. It's at least once a year, I can tell you that. There's no way I can possibly remember the words to every one of them; let alone the message I may have been trying to convey. I will say this, I laugh at times when I find myself reading a poem I find in a box lost somewhere in my house or attic and then find myself saying "Oh, I think I like that" when I wrote it. I laugh. I do. I wonder if other people do that or is it's just me. I wonder if there are people who can remember that they actually penned the words when they did it, why they did it, you know - - memories?
I came across a poem I wrote in the early '80s the other day and I thought about it. I thought I should publish that, but then I realized I did publish it! I not only published it in a newspaper I put it in my poetry book titled "Periwinkle". I'd like to re-do that book if only to take out the thoughts I wrote about the title poem. I no longer feel the way I do about the man I wrote the poem for. I was never in love with him. I in fact, never loved him at all in any way, but I really can't say I even have respect for him at this point and there I am now, in perpetuity being all kind and nice -- dang it.
Let me see if I can make things a bit more clear for anyone out there who doesn't know me. I am a poet. I am a writer. I am a storyteller. I am an author. At any moment (whatsoever) I could spontaneously burst into words...either spoken or written. When I get upset, pissed off, mad, or otherwise angry I can write words that cut through and leave no trace of life; I destroy and destroy utterly. Thank God for that delete button. Thank God for erasers. When I am happy, when I am in love, when I am fantasizing, my words can lift and create life itself. There are new colors and hues of romance as well as extemporaneously vivid genesis! I become the keeper of flames, the bringer of passion -- I'd rather be happy I think.
Today, I will leave you with a word or two I wrote in 2020 while praying and asking God to show me His mercy as I wondered about the future of my life here on this Earth.
"Will I be a wife again, can I bring my heart to think it?
Will there be a moment when my soul receives a kiss?
Could I know again, the panting, the whispers of enchantment
Are there words of hope waiting, somewhere in the mist?"
Who knows? Only God can answer that one. If it is to be it will be. I will certainly not seek it on my own. I've done enough damage in that area of my life. I will simply say that the ink in my pen and the blood in my veins would be pumping at the same time if it were so -- let the words commence God if it is your will. Let me know your will. Ephesians 5 tells me a bit of what to expect, but it's a very sharp two-party sword that one. Not only does it cut both ways, but it also unites in a way that only God can.
Let the words stir in my head and in my heart -- awaiting their release.
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