To bend some more words

Into a thought or an idea

Takes coffee and determination.

Waiting for the Muse to arrive

And quit touching up herself

Means digging into the mess,

The muck of the matter.

For what good are words

If there is no intention,

Just flailing on a sheet?

I digress as I converse,

To hear the endless drone

Of concepts and worries.

Those don’t need the paper;

They pass by like snowflakes

Not touching the ground at all.

Noise is inevitable,

But learning to find deeper meaning

In the hums and rumbles.

So I journal in the debris,

Eking out another line

Hoping to strike poetic gold.


© 2016 Valerie Hathaway

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