I was sitting gleefully on a park bench
Under the midmorning sun
And soaking in the wildflowers
When I tried to write a poem
To capture what I saw
But nothing came close at all
To the world lying before me.
So, I put down my pen
And opened my eyes.
***
Soon come dark and solemn clouds
That cloak the world in shade
And pour down endless buckets of rain,
music to my writer’s ears.
I watch the news that night
and hear that a woman has been attacked.
Her death carries weight to all
Her blood, an omen of this concrete world.
***
I pull out my pen and get to work
A brooding scribbler
For only in dark and glooming tidings
when metal grows like poppies
Can I attempt to conquer the world
with words.
END
Author Statement:
I often go out into nature with the intention of writing poetry, or prose descriptions to improve my writing. I mostly leave empty handed. Nature is a hard thing to describe outside of the object colors, shapes, etc. There is a spiritual element that I can never quite match, and I always find myself just taking it in while my pen remains in my pocket.
That being said, this poem began downloading while I was on a walk. A walk where I had intended to write nothing at all and just enjoy myself. Funny how that works. I find that my ability to write nature poetry ascended when I connected it to the human experience. I think human experience is at the core of all great literature, and I can’t imagine that changing any time soon.
For those who don’t give a rat’s bum about nature poetry and want more dark fiction…stay tuned.
Lenny, out.