After spending a lot longer than I had wanted or expected to spend on reworking and re-editing one of my earlier books I was reminded of this poem I wrote for anthology. Although it was accepted and printed I can’t remember the name of the book, might have been easier if I had recieved a check for it. Everytime I read it I am reminded of just how hard it sometimes is to come up with just the right combintaion of words to get what is in my head on to paper.
Wind through the trees echoes
Carrying whispers from days before
Listen closely for the stories as they pass
Words lump together like leaves on trees
Finding their way onto pieces of paper
Some continue on out and over the fields
Only to be caught by someone else
In some other place or time
Words in the wind carry out over time
From place to place to be caught and used
While others slip past going farther on
Rolling on for others to catch their whispers
Whispers of words lumping together
Forming the stories we read when all together
Words in the wind come again and again
Carry the words to the days after us
So that others that follow can use them
Making the stories yet to be told
22 December, 2007
I think I have just figured out why I find it soothing to have a fan on while I write. W.
From The Strange Mind of Me 