#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Death Bridge, April Morning, Charles River
This morning, the pretty bridge above, called Death.
Scanning poems, I found this tonight at the Poetry Foundation. I want to think more deeply about it tomorrow. I'll sleep on it and dream on it tonight.
“The Poet Asks Forgiveness
Dead to the world I have failed you
Forgive me, traveller.
Thirsty, I was no fountain
Hungry, I was not bread
Tired, I was no pillow
Forgive my unwritten poems:
the many I have frozen with irony
the many I have trampled with anger
the many I have rejected in self-defence
the many I have ignored in fear
unaware, blind or fearful
I ignored them.
They clamoured everywhere
those unwritten poems.
They sought me out day and night
and I turned them away.
Forgive me the colours
they might have worn
Forgive me their eclipsed faces
They dared not venture from
the unwritten lines.
Under each inert hour of my silence
died a poem, unheeded”