Mirror Poems

-- The First Poem –

John Herlihy

Each poem written is always the very first,

Born of struggle, hardship, inevitable thirst.

The idea as a mirage in a vast desert born,

Shimmering in light, from imagination torn.

Words come piecemeal, minutes to an hour,

Each word a bud soon to become a flower.

Raw emotions flow that fall deep into a well,

Drawn back into the light as if by magic spell.

Each poem on a subject with unique flavor,

Each poem read alone, its perfume to savor.

Verses fly off the flint of mind as initial spark,

Lightly singed with the poet’s eternal mark.

As a child, things happen for the first time,

As a poet, each poem a creativity sublime.

-- The Last Poem –

John Herlihy

The last poem written is always the very first,

The poet’s heart beating as if ready to burst.

Doubt rears as the poet asks:  Can I do this?

To capture in words elements of beauty, bliss.

Shimmering white birds on bay waters to alite,

Night dew on grass to mirror the moonlight.

Minutes ever fleeting, hardly filling the hour,

Each word exuding the perfume of a flower.

An old mind still able to initiate audible spark,

An old body still able to leave behind a mark.

There is always a last time to laugh and to cry,

Always one last moment to die before we die.

The wise sage knows this could be the last time,

The wise poet ready to write down the last line.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Sunday 16 October 2022