BofD -- March 11, 2006

A poem a day -- I need a change of scenery.. external and internal.

The news gets worse every day, war, bombings, people dying, natural disasters. I almost hate to see what is new. And I suspect that marketing compels the media to make events sound more than what they are, more disastrous, more horrible, more whatever, to sell the news, to sell the sponsor's products, to sell sell sell.

So I'm reading about Emily Dickinson, the poetess from Amhurst, Mass. Her desire for solitude, her genius in writing poetry, her desire for privacy, and now we have to guess from what little remains who she was, why she was a recluse and what her poetry means. Not, have to; want to. So what does my poetry mean? What does anyone's poetry mean? By me.....

it snowed today
brief white flakes
drifting in solitary solumnity
exhaling in momentary freedom and youth
until individuality becomes anonyminity
falling onto street, car, tree, grass
and melting into
obscurity