“Who Do I think I am?

 

Who do I think I am?

 

I often wonder

just who I think

I am

To dare to call

myself

a poet

a writer

a dreamer of dreams?

 

When I see those around me

whose words flow so freely,

seem to flow so gracefully

literally dancing

on the page,

whose words leave me

breathless with anticipation,

luring me in

enticing me with their

sheer audacity,

virtuosity,

and complexity of phrase

and the haunting beauty

of their images

the lingering after effects

of their thoughts

and of their dreams.

 

So, seriously —

Who do I think I am

to dare to call

myself

anything other

than what I am —

Just someone

who feels

who dreams

and has the need

to put words on paper

in some form or fashion.

Nothing quite as free

nor even quite as audacious

Just someone

who does what she can

as best she can

Yet frustrated

knowing that there is more

oh, much more

So much more —

So, Do I really dare to call myself a poet?

Do I really have a choice?

and does it really matter after all?

Joan Walker

3/4/2014

Thoughts

 

thoughts

my thoughts

wild – rebellious

children

scampering

here and there

never stopping,

never pausing

not even to catch a breath

 

nor do they seem to care

that time is passing

 

other times

nothing, nada, zilch

nil

not even a trickle

to soothe my parched

and fevered brain

What is there

what little bit

seems stuck

mired down in mists

of trouble and turmoil

not apathy — no.

I should be so lucky.

Not even wanting to get

unstuck

out of the muck.

 

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