This is the poem that should
not be. It's too late for poetry:
it's time for sleep, and precious
little time is left of this night
...
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In the depths of the night, sleep wanting, turbulent surrounding, yet the poet scribbles on a broad paper words the heart longs to express. Who authored the poem...the force within! Great piece. I enjoyed it.
In lieu of a comment: This is the poem that it should be for it's never too late for poetry. Time is precious and so is sleep but none quite so as the 'spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings' in the form of words scribbled on paper when inspiration hits a poet...
I LOVE THIS! You can't contain your energy. YOU, not the wind, are the force of nature up there in St. Paul in the middle of the night. My favorite phrase right now is cyclonic wind. The trees, the wind, the POWER, the writer, are falling into much of the poetry I read today (especially from the midwestern American poets) . The insomniac writer reigns true! Maybe you should have dared to walk outside in the middle of the night with your pen in your hand! Oh wait! You DID go outside. Daredevil! I've never read a poem so fast...the energy was conveyed....WOW.
My new word/concept is boundless and seeing the thick branches of two towering trees bend in that relentless wind fixes the experiences permanently. I was alone during the event and writing but now I sense a third like the mysterious third on the road to Emmaus. When I re-read this poem, when I write another version, this response is my paradigm NOW I know what this poem is meant to do - CONVEY ENERGY! ! BTW POEM OF FORCE is Simone Weil's name for the ILIAD. Thus the Homeric imagery
It is uplifting - that it begins with Things are bad all around - and through NATURE that is falling ASLEEP- paradoxically it finishes with awesome power and Poem of Force! silence make things stronger. Who the author? your angel -guardian?
This is fabulous! I love the whole battle of trying to create a poem worthwhile to be taking up the time where you should be sleeping - though you could not sleep anyway. a slice of reality still wet from creation. is such a beautiful line. The ending lines are my favourite, the poems spark turns to fire as nature is introduced and portrayed in your words. Some greater poet made the force in your backyard, but you still hold power in being the poet to turn that vision into something more with words. Wonderful.