Today for the first time in at least fifteen years, I
actually jotted down a few verses of poetry. I am not poetically inclined. I'll be the first to admit it. However, I did write lyrics for two songs for my high school boyfriend's band. The lyrics weren't awful, they weren't good either. I think what I came up with today could be good, but I am not sharing them here because 1. It's not finished (and may not ever be) 2. It could come off as....well, self absorbed, maybe. 3. I don't need the additional criticism in my life right now. I needed an outlet of self expression today and for some odd reason my mind took to poetry for a change. Anyhow, I've read a few poems today, worked at writing one, and so I thought I'd post this one by my very favorite poet, Billy Collins.
Litany
You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine . . .
Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley,
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I am not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and—somehow—the wine.
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