11/93: Poetry

I’m afraid of Poetry. Maybe not afraid, okay, a bit afraid, more like intimidated by. I try to read it and I think I sometimes understand it, I certainly appreciate it. I’ve even written a few, but nothing I’d share with anyone, not even my Mother.

But I have suddenly found myself taking a poetry course called: How Writers Write Poetry. And three days into it I’m already off the ledge. I even wrote a poem. I was waiting for a massage, my phone tucked into a locker, no magazines in the room and my brain had space. This came:

a rumored murmur
sends a jolt down my spine
my legs quiver, keep running, cycling, kicking
to run away

It’s certainly not perfect, but I’m proud of the first two lines.

I’ll keep working on it. And others.




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