….

winter riverSo.  I say I am a writer.  That supposedly means I write stuff, and I guess writing stuff kind of means that someone is going to read it–eventually.   So mainly I’ve been focusing on big projects since I’ve picked up writing again, but lately, due, in part, to some lovely people I have been reading on Twitter, I’ve done a few smaller things a well.   I don’t have an outlet for those things so I decided to do this so the people who have been told I’m a writer can finally read some projects.

I don’t know how often I’ll post.  I’m still quite focused on finishing up some bigger projects, but my job seems to keep me bored enough to churn out a short or a poem every now and then.

Here’s my first try at a poem since college.  (Too far back to admit to.  :))

I write in my head a lot while running.   I took this picture a little while ago.  It was an inspiration for the poem.

 

These words are not mine
I pluck them from the wintry air
seizing them as they drift down from the sky
to cover my yearning
like the palest snow

These words are not mine
I draw them from the deepest river
they flow to me
filling me until I choke with scenes and scents
of people and places I will never know

These words are not mine
I pull them from the roots of the trees
through the dark rich soil of the Earth
where they fester in wounds
that will never heal

These words are not mine
I steal them from the animals around me
squirrels and birds and deer
that flee to hide from my broken heart

These words are not mine
I absorb them through my thirsty skin
from the sun as the warm rays melt away my last thoughts
of a love I can never have

These words
they are not mine
but I will give them
give them to you

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