As I drove, I noticed the elongated shadows the buildings cast across the street. At each break between, streaks of golden sunlight striped the pavement. Light penetrating the darkness.
I caught every green light. No stopping, no turning, just driving on and on and on. Through the shadows. Through the light. Never slowing, never wavering. Like a mundane life. A safe life.
But it need not be, I thought. The sunlight was like a blade, slashing through. Flashes of inspiration. An opportunity to escape the banality.
At that point, I had the great idea to capture my thoughts in a poem. Below is the result. And now, you know why I don’t write poetry.
Early morning,
driving south on Blackstone as
sunlight strobes,
flash
flash
flash
between buildings whose
shadows
stripe the pavement,
slice
slice
slice
freeing me
from this monotony of
wheels turning,
round
round
round
I detour.
Linda Cassidy Lewis 
Thanks for not writing poetry. We don’t need one more poet. 😉 Your writing is lovely.
-a fellow scribbler
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You’re welcome.
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Me too, me too, me too. I think you are being too hard on yourself. It does have wonderful imagery and rhythm.
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Me not, me not, me not. 😀
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“My favorite poem is the one that starts ‘Thirty days hath September’ because it actually tells you something.”
–Groucho Marx
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Open your mind, Paul. Broaden your horizons. 🙂
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LOL
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Actually, I find the rhythm simple and soothing.
I also do not write poetry, except that I make up songs all the time. I am constantly singing and driving my family up the wall. I regret the fact that I cannot write music. Something for me to do when there are more hours in the day.
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I don’t sing, I whistle or hum and most of the time it’s not music I recognize. I think this is another example of our need to create.
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