Inspiration, Musings, Poetry, Writing

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,
between buildings whose
stripe the pavement,
freeing me
from this monotony of
wheels turning,
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


  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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