Poets don’t iron shirts, but I do.
Does that mean I am not a poet?
Ironing shirts helps me write the poem.
Smoothing wrinkles, being precise,
An idea washed and ironed, crisp and clean.
Poets don't make their own bed, but I do.
The first thing I do upon awakening.
Sometimes the verses come while asleep.
Upon awakening, I write them down.
Then I make the bed, everything in place.
Poets don't sweat the small stuff, but I do.
Every detail of every image comes to the fore.
Meaning found in dew drops on flower petals.
Serenity on a country pond, bathed in starlight,
The magical tour of the changing four seasons.
Poets get lost in dreamy fantasy, but not I.
I am grounded in the here and now.
The clock ticking as gentle wind blew.
I wait patiently, my heart beating steady.
Patient that the poem will soon be finished.
Some poets hide behind their words, but not I.
Constructing masks of emotion that reveal nothing.
Poets should lift the mask, elements of truth to reveal.
Valued sentiments that reveal something, anything,
As first and final light in the dawning and dusk of day.
I try to capture a moment, that's what I do.
Breath of eternity found in minutes of the hour.
Timely timelessness there on the written page,
The poem as a finger that touches another heart.
Is that what poets do? That’s what I try to do.
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Copyright ©John Herlihy
Monday 4 July 2024
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Rebecca
It immediately reminded me of irony, an often used device in poetry. Wrote a rather humorous "irony" poem and posted it here one time. I started buying polyester/cotton shirts when I entered college. Found that I never had to iron anything again. Sometimes, a shirt would be a bit wrinkled when I first took it out of the suitcase. Once it was on my body and warmed in humid air, the wrinkles disappeared like magic.
You reveal much about how you go about the process of creating a poem here.
Ron