The legs of love

legs

chair legs sound as anchors below our
wobbly as a New Year’s Eve sky table top

it’s elbowed down wood hides a mess of
knocked crossed knees and bunched sock toes

bound like thumbless mittened fists
recoiling at an accidental bump

but not in bed where I seek and find
entwine your thighs close tight and sleep

_______

This is a response to a prompt given on a free (free!) on-line poetry mini-course which I learned about through Trish Hopkinson. Unlike my truly poetic friends, Luanne Castle, John Dofflemyer, and Cynthia Jobin, I am new at this poetry business and have been working at it without much knowledge other than that acquired as an occasional reader of poetry and a lapsed student of English Literature. The course is helpful and in short modules with exercises you can do if you are inclined. It is basic stuff but I’m finding it instructive. 

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9 thoughts on “The legs of love

  1. Nowadays I seem to have more patience and willingness to take whatever length of time is necessary to write something. This last comment by you Sue could not apply more to my studying, learning and Mastering the new pieces I am adding to my repertoire. I take each song for 15 mins each and set a goal of just 4 bars at the least and give it my full concentration I am amazed at how much and how quickly I can learn and then memorize each tune. Then it is just a matter knowing I have the confidence to play them in public. And that my dear friend is where I have to be willing to get a little egg on my face, it rarely goes as well as I hope the first time! I just try to remember what Lord Russell said in one of the books you gave me “ones ego is no large part of the world” Thanks for that by the way. Keep at the poetry Sue I look forward to reading more!

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    • So, Jean, maybe this new patience is a benefit of getting older? Oh and that old confidence thing. Knowing when you have it and then taking the chance on putting it out there for the world to listen/hear/read. And then failing and trying again. That’s another benefit of getting older. The world isn’t paying as close attention as we might think to our egos after all and so who cares if we slip and fall? Bring on the egg, I say!

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  2. Your poetry is bold and strong and not at all the poetry of someone new to it. I think living is as important as writing to the poet. Without it there is only silence and you certainly have something to say.

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    • That’s an interesting comment, Simon. I’ve attempted writing poetry at various phases of life, often in times of personal difficulty, but never stuck with it. Nowadays I seem to have more patience and willingness to to take whatever length of time is necessary to write something.

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