POETRY

by Lori Martin

This art is too tame.

This tiny pen line on paper,

Straining to remain in control,

Is too focused on the point.

I need a brush and a bucket.

I need a stage from which

To leap, scream, and dance.

Poets do it with so much tension!

All the passion and vehemence

Of a scribble. In creating,

I strain against this palpitating

Pain, this pressure berating

My brain beats against the padded walls of my skull screams

Poetry

Is a painful, messy birth

In the wilderness

Leaving nothing but paper

And confined scribbles

Ready-made for rejection

With a self addressed envelope.

This art is too tame.