up on the roof
it's where I go
for a new view
of the ground
and many, many nails
to pound
a slight misalignment
of the hand
metal to metal becomes
metal to meat
and the wrong nail
gets pounded
oh, my fiddle
can wait awhile
and I strum
different chords
such swollen color
with a dish of ice
midnight meditations
throbbing thoughts
and tender touch -
missing medications
a pound of flesh
the nail gun next time
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
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10 comments:
yikes! get well, steve!
your mishap makes for good poetry, though.
The trials of life can be painful but, music still awaits us.
Steve, this is a very visual and wonderfully written poem.
EEEEEOOOOUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The pains we endure for a poem!! Sorry about the finger, but a good poem!!
it's nice to have a dose of reality within a world of chaos and rhetoric. thanks.
polona - I can press keys - carefully - thanks for reading!
queen neetee - it's good to have you back online - though I'd been off for a while - thank you for leaving this comment :)
pat - you captured it very well! Learning new ways to play old chords :)
betmo - simple things like hitting a digit with a hammer can be refreshingly real :) nice to hear from you
masago - looks like we hit 'enter' at the same time, or close to. thanks for visiting again.
pat said it foe me
hope you're ok now
A poet always take something negative and make it a positive music for the rest of us......if you had used a nail gun we will be poorer for it..
sometimes it's not your day but you still manage to squeeze a poem out of the mishap. :)
enjoyed the read.
floots, aurora, plus ultra, dsmake1, jon - thank you for the notes - I've pretty much put away the hammer for now - and time to get back to the keyboard.
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