Poem (Response): Words For Compost

Poems For Compost

My friend, Terry, wrote a poem entitled “Ideas Trapped By Words” and I borrowed a line and took it for a walk, into a new poem (as a sort of response).

His poem — about shredding paper and ideas as the mind wrestles with words — brought up similar for me something that comes from the act of writing a poem every  single morning (which is what I do): there are ruts that one gets into with common topics, with form or formlessness, with dead ends that bring it all to a halt. Some days, I post something in the form of what someone might generously call “poetry” that belongs more naturally in the compost bin (but those are the poems, too, that sit in my mind for hours until I tighten them up with revision — so maybe my head is the compost bin?)

Anyway, here is my poem:

I wish more of my words
could become compost –

for when I’m fed up
with nothing to say
but still, in ink
and idea, saying it –

Just imagine the weeds
on the lawn, droopy at dawn
but strengthening by day,
as if discarded verse

took something worse,
and transformed it into
something unrecognizably

Peace (and dirt),

  1. This was my response to Terry, in a completely different direction than yours. The beauty of connections and abstractions:

    Shred-mulch, or is it mulch shreds,
    multi-colored confetti
    fluttering to the ground.
    Spreading a blanket
    to feed, to enrich
    the soil that feeds us.

    A rigid bit of plastic,
    ripping a gash
    in the foot
    of the conqueror
    treading the ground.

    I fear much less
    the war of massaging
    words on the page
    than the war
    to eradicate
    the “forever” toxins
    we, Homo Sapiens,
    have inflicted
    upon Mother Earth.

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