Que Sera Sera Poetry

It is easy to write a poem.
Soften your senses;
let a couplet nuzzle its snout
into the crook of you arm,
the small of your back.

Catch a phrase
on your tongue,
don’t be afraid to let it melt.
Swallow and trust
you will sing its song
through your fingertips.

Open to receive.
Resist the urge to insist
on needing an internet thesaurus,
on first spending hours
twiddling the thumbs
of procastination

or navel-gazing
in a half-baked daze.

It is easy to write a poem
once you can believe
that you cling
to the clusters of etceteras
that sprout round your ankles,
that they’re only there
because you expect them,
invite them, plead with them
to keep you busy.

It is easy to write a poem.

It is the humility of asking what is
rather than forcing
what ought to be.


“Poetry”, I says, “I’m having a hard time writing you. I’m disappointed you’re not living up to the amazing life I imagined for you. I thought you’d be gorgeous, popular. I thought you’d become a doctor. Every time you don’t live up to these expectations, I feel a little more like a failure. I’m trying to live through you, and it’s not working. What am I doing wrong?”

“Valerie”, says Poetry, “Relax. Each time you try to force me down one road, you shut down all the potential of the imagination, the mysterious process of writing and living. Let it be, eh lady?”

Thanks Poetry. You’re the best.



One thought on “Que Sera Sera Poetry

  1. Love the living vicariously through Poetry bit! Sooner or later that problem child, Poetry, will rebel against you and all will be right with the world 🙂 Obviously, it already has a mind of its own.

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