I am muted
like a trumpet
heard but more reserved
needing more lung, more lip
I am dampened and bandaged
like a ripped drum
holding back, fearing the stick
I am an awkwardly capoed guitar
holding down four of six strings
I am a dream
drained of colour
I am fingers with no rings
I am not desperate
but shun parades
I hold regrets
like half-eaten ham sandwiches
on white bread
I was standing, watching
destiny wave like the Queen
as she passed by
I often wonder where she went
I am too lame to
even shuffle
and too tired to lament
yet I
15/11/07
copyright 2007 Trevor Haug
from "Poems from the Hedge"
1 comment:
i like this one. a lot.
my personal theory on creativity is that it is initiated/comes from a place of emptiness. God spoke to the void, and created - from nothing, something beautiful. Every 'accomplished' artist - from Shakespeare to Paul McCartenay to my old neighbour who makes pottery every day - speaks of the 'from the void' aspect of their gift. But I also believe that when we face deep desire, we become aware of our lack.
I love the imagery. And I love the line:"i am fingers without rings". But I would add just one more line to your poem:
"i am guacamole without oranges"
keep writing, trev.
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