Wednesday, April 13, 2011

left to my own devices

Some days I write with a thick pencil,
ham fisted in a Big Chief tablet,
barely literate - smudged and smeared,
unwieldy, childish prose.

Every now and again,
I write with a scalpel,
All bloody and pain wrecked -
words excised, still dripping.

On Fridays, I write with a rain gutter,
catching the words as a down pour,
sluicing them in the general direction
of a downspout, wet and soggy.

More often, I write with a plow.
Heavy lifting, dirt worked
in the hot sun, sweaty seeding
hoping for something besides a weed.

Most days, I write with a shovel,
heaving sticky piles of steamy manure,
from one plop
to the other.

On a very rare day,
no matter my device,


  1. Chris, I miss you! and I love this poem. It's my favorite by far. We did a 5K on Saturday and the Thin Blue Line was going at the same time. I kept hoping to run into you or your family. I must stop by and see you soon.

  2. Oh it's great to hear from you! We did not make the Thin blue line this year - i was sad. Would love to see you guys! Thanks for the encouraging words. C.

  3. I like this one as well, keep posting!

  4. I love your poetry. The poem is so beautiful in its subtle way.
    I enjoy your post so much!!

  5. This is really cute. I enjoyed it.