back porch writer…

not as much the intellect as some,

writing only things that seem to come,

to me when on the back porch I sit,

whether in reality or fantasy or when I shit…

my poems & stories seem to materialize,

out of the angel haired pasta of my “id”, my mind,

having no actual conception of the right time,

my haiku, coming slowly but surely, kinda as a mime…

surely I have no back porch, as you all well know,

but there is always the mind, conceiving a back porch, below,

I sometimes wonder if while here on my back porch, so low,

I truly make any sense, not so much for myself, but for you,

for if no “cents” is ever made from these my “supposed” masterpieces,

how can I be truly sure I have made a dent or to be more precise,

a crack in the, what some may call, ice of true expression…

herein I wax poetic sometimes,

writing from the back porch of my mind,      

sometimes sorry for taking you on an extended voyage,

to find, come what may, the “write” I feel I need to expose… 

so, dear reader, friend, comrade in the write, please bear with me,

as I so long windedly, (not necessarily a word there) allow you to see,

a part and parcel of my “id” that seems to have an overabundance,

of the written word that it is literally spewing forth all those words,

like that of a floodgate on a dam, opened after a long winter of snow,

all melted and ready to become an irrigator of someone’s farm,

far downstream,  awaiting the water to give drink to that of the inhabitants of the barn…

again, I have dragged this poem out to the “enth” degree,

you have my apologies, my queries and my thanks for allowing me,

                    to be totally, herein, free……..

                                                                                    (ed)