This is why I don’t write poetry

No, no, no!
No, no, no!
On the rare occasions I needed to keep the car this summer, I found myself driving down the main north/south street of my town not long after dawn. The traffic is still light at that time of morning, so it’s a perfect time for musing.

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.

21 thoughts on “This is why I don’t write poetry

  1. “My favorite poem is the one that starts ‘Thirty days hath September’ because it actually tells you something.”
    –Groucho Marx

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  2. 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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