Wandering Poet

Did Wordsworth see the bugs?
Did Coleridge sweat, and stand resting
hands on hips, wheezing, attempting
to rest and take the landscape in?
Did he slip with muddy boots, in velvet suit
and try to be poetic, nursing the hot feet
attendant to a walk.

Did Wordsworth smell the daffodils,
as they blinded him in the sun, and
the bugs, again, swarmed round his pad
til he was happy with the notes?
Did he pass the stranger’s greetings
or return them to their owners
gazing down at his feet, hands at his pack.
Did sunburn plague them?

The sweat doesn’t quite appear in print
the ink that hides the work.
And the poet does his best to hide it too,
Wandering lonely as a cloud,
in a cloud, and pad dispersing
Into sodden clods of paper
sinking to the fern.

Published by

capuchin

Send your life out in multiple directions like a galaxy shedding stars. Always come back to hope and try to thrive. All posts, (poems, stories, essays, etc.) here are composed by my hand, unless noted otherwise. Please ask if you'd like to use one.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s