I have, as I said , written a poem every day this month but two, but some of them were not worthy of your time, and so  for those days I am posting older poems. Not in keeping with the rules I suppose, but I figure it’s my challenge and following rules is not my forte. In this post I have a series of poems I wrote during a week I was at war with the muse, myself… It seemed an appropriate substitute.

Yesterday

I thought big thoughts
yesterday. They drown
In a fluid that is clear
as water is life.
All the little meanings
skitter from me,
nasty bugs,
liquid, it vaporized
into the cloud
I am in
over my head today

No Poem Today

I write my name with sticks
And stones
The passionflower has consumed the
clothesline, coincidence?
I think not

A cicada,
I express myself
every seventeen years

Today

I started too early
and stopped prematurely
I worked too hard
And rested to long
I showed too much forethought
And understood nothing
I believed what they told me
How did I go wrong?

New day

Sometimes I begin a new
Day right in the middle
Of this one
I lay down
to rise again, the sun
obliges
with a new sunrise
birds re-sing their morning
announcers restate their boring
opinions
But we never
Re-brew the coffee!
In this world
one must learn
What to keep
Immaculate

© 2013 Abby Smith, Writer