On The Temporary Nature Of…

Why a poem I wonder
is the place I need to be
within a clarity…
without thought
but sometimes rhyme…

where the illusion
of saying I am this
or I am that,
or defining a bird,
a cat, or a poet
smaller than a gnat

stalking a word
into shadows
of truth
and reality,
time    death
the illusion
in every breath,
every vulnerability

every stroke of pen
every yearning word
on every yellowing page
turning to dust

What kind of illusion is that,
I wonder.

 Interconnecting Circles


Carl Kopman
Managing Editor
Carl is a retired school teacher, house painter, commercial fisherman and NYC taxi driver now living in Berkeley, California.

#Carl Kopman

Comments

  1. Daniel Danzig - June 8, 2020 @ 10:50 am

    Great piece, Carl. Speaks to me.

  2. valorie olsen - May 24, 2020 @ 8:21 am

    Yes, yes. Truth or illusion, stalking that illusive clarity is an honest, rewarding, endless endeavor.

    Thanks, Carl for your you.

  3. Marlene M Moon - May 20, 2020 @ 11:59 am

    You are the best!

  4. Tatianna - May 18, 2020 @ 10:47 am

    I miss you.
    Reading your poetry brightened s my day.

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