Poets are meant to watch nature work, and weather.
Now, I've never claimed to be a poet
but have written my fair share of poetry
so if I ever were to decide a that's what I was to be
would I qualify? With poems that distinctly lack
in allusions to grass, insects, trees, water, sky?
I watch the window to see the light shift
through from blue to purple to black to grey
and then all the way back to blue, for another day.
Time to start, even though I didn't try
to sleep at all, just sat up scribbling poetry.
Grass grows, yes, and the process is quite swift
but not noticeable, like birds, that sing, and squawk
and rivers rush by, but there's only one murky one here
from which dead bodies are pulled out each year.
And trees have leaves that sound like they whisper
if you want to be poetic about it, but they don't talk.
Insects have more eyes and legs, and the invertebrate
doesn't talk or sing, so overall, the watching
of weather and nature must be tiring, to just wait
for it to repeat itself, for something worth writing
in a poem- the sun sets (yet again), rain falls (wet again)
grass growing (still) and leaves falling (chill)
and birdsong isn't the best, and not exciting
and insects won't inspire you unless it's in biting.
So I guess I'll never be a real poet, because I never
really pay attention to nature, or watch the weather.
I'd rather write about people. I think, for obvious reasons:
they don't repeat themselves constantly, forever and ever
the same sun, the same rain, the cycles and seasons.
I'd rather write about people, all changing together.
