CREEK ROAD GANG
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Katie Rose Convery: 2 Poems
copyright 2010
Clouds Revisited
How can I write a poem while I aspire to silence
Most words having already been spoken eloquently enough
All my loves living and dead too worthy for sentimental adjectives
Too challenging for printable ones
Or could this uncarved writers block
Be my sister’s fault
Falsely accusing my third grade self
Of stealing her “Cloud” Haiku
More likely it is fear of poetry faux pas
Cringing at anticipated criticism as I over-alliterate
Impatiently waiting for a poem to find me
While I wonder if I am simply uninspired
Reconsidering my life a poetic endeavor
A few weak words where one
Precisely placed pause
Would have made it flow into a
richer
riskier
reality
Bamboozled
Cultivated captor,
your tender tenacity
holds me in rapture
You are the wind,
a rattling charmer,
dervishly whirling, supplely still.
In the dew-speckled morning,
you’re an ocean of undulating diamonds,
refreshingly porous.
Afternoon sun seeks your shade,
a silk fan, tatting lacy patterns on
heat soaked surfaces.
Sword-shaped leaves,
sharp tongues of wisdom,
whisper soothing secrets.
You are a choir of warriors
chanting harmony
deeply rooted, marching skyward.
How can I write a poem while I aspire to silence
Most words having already been spoken eloquently enough
All my loves living and dead too worthy for sentimental adjectives
Too challenging for printable ones
Or could this uncarved writers block
Be my sister’s fault
Falsely accusing my third grade self
Of stealing her “Cloud” Haiku
More likely it is fear of poetry faux pas
Cringing at anticipated criticism as I over-alliterate
Impatiently waiting for a poem to find me
While I wonder if I am simply uninspired
Reconsidering my life a poetic endeavor
A few weak words where one
Precisely placed pause
Would have made it flow into a
richer
riskier
reality
Bamboozled
Cultivated captor,
your tender tenacity
holds me in rapture
You are the wind,
a rattling charmer,
dervishly whirling, supplely still.
In the dew-speckled morning,
you’re an ocean of undulating diamonds,
refreshingly porous.
Afternoon sun seeks your shade,
a silk fan, tatting lacy patterns on
heat soaked surfaces.
Sword-shaped leaves,
sharp tongues of wisdom,
whisper soothing secrets.
You are a choir of warriors
chanting harmony
deeply rooted, marching skyward.
* * *
Biographical Note for Katie Rose Convery:
I live with my husband in the western suburbs of
Philadelphia, am a mother, step-mother, grandmother and mother-in-law. A
longtime fan of poetry I still thrill to the first poem I learned in
first grade – Baby Chick by Aileen Fischer – “Peck, peck, peck on
the warm brown egg….” Katie's poem "Lady of the Forest" appeared in our May issue.
