adventures in dysthymia

Saturday, June 06, 2015

The Woman Who Made Me a Poet ~ a poem

The Woman Who Made Me a Poet

Unaware, the woman
who made me a poet
goes about her days

in a house full of dogs.
Different dogs, now,
than those that crowded us

on the couch and I
do not know their names.
Not that it matters. I have

words now, sleeping at
my side, fetching memories
I toss upon the green

lawns of years ago.
And the woman who made
me a poet does not

know these games; she does
not know these words that found
their way to my door,

tails wagging, begging to be
taken in. She does
not know they speak of her.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

Although I have not been in 'poet mode' recently, the phrase that became the title to this piece came to me this morning and I had to write this. An all-at-once poem, not one crafted over a period of time, and therefor rather simple in structure (roughly accentual) and concept.

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