Thursday, January 15, 2015

Sleeping Bits

They lay scattered like Legos
Across the cluttered space

Hard for me to see
beginnings and endings
Hard for me to judge
rhythms and emphasis
Hard for me to paint
colors and shadows.

Thinking that there must
be keys of pattern
Thinking that there must
be swells of justice
Thinking that there must
be piles of hope

Selecting each small word
Rotating it like a jigsaw
Selecting each small symbol
Turning it like a key
Selecting each abstract sound
Listening for the music

to begin
again.



18 comments:

  1. Beautiful and inspired poem, Tabor!

    ReplyDelete
  2. "Selecting each small word
    Rotating it like a jigsaw"
    Brilliant!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Scattered like legos....reminds me of my grandson's visits. Nice job on this.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Mix your poetry with your photos and look around for one of the many small publishing houses out there. The problem with books with a lot of pictures is it takes the right publishing house to make them economical for the ordinary folks to buy. But you have the goods. You just have to find the right place to get them out. I've bought lots of such books as I love images and words strung together.

    ReplyDelete
  5. or....just the word, "again." as a last line. Do you go to a writers workshhop? Rain is right. This would make a nice chapbook.

    ReplyDelete
  6. "Scattered like LEGOS"
    Ahh, yes. That is exactly right.

    Wonderful poem, Tabor!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Scattered like legos is something i can relate to. The youngest is 16 and i still run across a stray one now and then.

    ReplyDelete
  8. You play with the English language so beautifully.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Wonderfully thought provoking.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Aww, satisfying poem.

    ReplyDelete
  11. This reminds me of writing blog posts too. You are such a talented poet.

    ReplyDelete
  12. I am going to focus on the piles of hope. There must be piles of hope!

    ReplyDelete
  13. Yes, I stagger around the outside of the building ringing and old bell. It calls everyone in from coffee or smoking to the meeting. If only I could remember the times, it would be an easy job.

    ReplyDelete
  14. I interpreted this in so many ways. Beautiful poem. Thanks.

    Greetings from London.

    ReplyDelete
  15. Love it. Great metaphor. Writing is like putting lego pieces together. They are what we make them. Reminds me of the poem I just wrote about shaking out a poem like loose change and words as something of value to spend. Posting it later today.

    ReplyDelete
  16. life is made up of such bits.
    if that is indeed what you are saying here.

    ReplyDelete
  17. There's something sad about it, yet optimistic.

    Very good poetry!

    ReplyDelete

Take your time...take a deep breath...then hit me with your best shot.