“It’s not about the words. It’s about the memories lost inside the words.” ~ Virginia Woolf, from Congenial Spirits: The Selected Letters of Virginia Woolf

Jackson Pollock Number 2
“Number 2” (1951, collage oil)
by Jackson Pollock

 

“Sometimes you finish the poem, and that last piece clicks in place. Sometimes the poem is finished with you.” ~ Frederick Seidel, from The Art of Poetry No. 95

Sunday afternoon. Partly cloudy and seemingly warmer, 74 degrees.

I hate this house. It’s lovely outside, but inside it’s humid and mucky. Oh well.

I wrote this one a few days ago. It came to me, as they sometimes do, and I did a revision, and then I went back to revise again, and it refused. Sometimes the poem does what it wants, and you are left looking on, wondering how that happened . . .

Oh well . . .

This is my first time in trying to import a PDF using Google docs, so let me know if it doesn’t work, please. I think if you click on the blue left arrow, the poem shows up . . . maybe? Not sure . . .


Music by Gossling, “Riptide”