Raindrop Perals Poem by Terence George Craddock

part of a poem scribbled on an envelope, just had to wait till I got back to it for the title; if I had waited much longer I would have lost it, house cleaning picks of a few scrap poems that way, more often they are not written, too busy watching a movie, the news, a program, no pen, no time, too tired to bother, interrupted, work/chores or in bed and can't be bothered getting up, especially in winter; last winter I took over 4 months off writing becasue I got sick of the cold, was coughing, to see if I could; a few of the poems I never wrote down were styles I had never written, still have not written, never will? But the joy the buzz of the words was real. We are blessed with words, the words to express what we think, the poems are points of reference, I can sometimes read an old poem I wrote and relive the time, the age, the moment; that joy that truth is precious to a poet; or at least to this one; the frustration of not writing or expressing an idea emotion concept passes; there are always words to write; the wonder is when we write themes we care not to, perhaps because no one else will, nature like 'Raindrop Perals' is often the most rewarding to write, the most loved to read; but horizons are wide, life is wider, the microscope lanscape and telescope all have there place.