The Magic of Poetry
Served Sideways
Why not realize that tainted poetry
is an existential experience?
I cut my finger,
you feel my pain.
I blindly crash
into unbuckled words
where they can break or heal me.
There are times
I sprinkle paprika on my poetry,
grill my haiku,
marinate a sonnet.
I’ll forget some subtle ingredient
and have to run back to the store.
Still, how can scribbled hieroglyphics
on crumpled pages be food for the soul?
I am at times reckless
and immediately regret the bloodied incision
I make onto a glaring white screen.
Life was meant to savor, to live, to learn,
but I have flown off the handle and driven out of my lane.
I’ve revealed a naked part of me
I was not ready for the world to see.
A world reflected through a distorted lens.
Life is like poetry
in perpetual motion
an itch
a dare
a plunge
a plunger
an axe of emotion
a river of denial
a teaspoon of cliché
served with a side of wasabi.
Is poetry the thing
to capture the dawn,
unwind the moonlight,
tell me,
what is the magic
of poetry?
© Connie Song 2023. All Rights Reserved.
