Because I can.

Because I am indeed feeling bold.

Because the opportunity presents itself

And I would be a fool to let it pass.

Because I have always written

Will always write

But don’t always learn.

Because friends, feedback, teachers and editors

Don’t appear every day.

And so I begin.

Re-working old poems.

In hopes of seeing words anew.

Or rather

New uses for old words?

 

 

Succumbing

 

The water lures me

As she has so many times before

 

Now emerging

 

Discreet

 

As a delicate muse in the woods

 

Her hollow voice tempting

In a distant primordial song

Of silver coins tossed from teasing fingers

 

Her sweet smell and silky sway and wave

Taunting down the mountainside

 

Am I no more than a voyeur

Standing safely out of reach

Dry on her precarious banks

 

Enthralled

 

While she takes no heed of me

 

 

 

I am but a hunched form

A leaning tree

Casting shade across her face

 

As her struggle to keep fluid

 

Ebbs and flows

 

In thickening waters below

 

 

 

And if I stand here long enough

Will I see her freeze

Watch her facade relinquish

To the static state of

 

Solid water