Wednesday, July 27, 2022

I Would Not Have Been a Poet....

 


I would not have been a poet except
when I was just turned fourteen, sitting
in my grade nine class, a poem
began writing itself in my head;
quickly, I wrote it down,
then sat back, amazed.

I would not have been a poet except
I have always been in love with blue sky
and trees, with lakes and rivers
and the shimmering sea,
and have tried to capture their beauty in words,
more or less unsuccessfully.
This hampered ability has
kept me writing poetry ever since,
thousands of poems,
by now,
all saying some version of
"this is all that I know of beauty
and most of what I know as joy."

I would not have been a poet except
I have had my heart broken, and have lost
everything that I had more than once,
have loved more than I have been loved,
except by a big black wolf, who showed me
how love was meant to be done
when two hearts love as one.

I would not have been a poet except
every morning, when I sit down at my desk,
even after all these years, the words still come,
singing my song of gratitude for that blue sky,
those ancient cedar, for the beautiful
non-human creatures that are the true wonders
of this world, and for pearly pink dawns
and amber sunsets that lift our eyes
up above the cacophony
of our noisy human day
to seek a higher path that will
lead us forward
in a better way.

Inspired by VII by Wendell Berry. The italicized lines are his.

2 comments:

  1. dogs are the best. Kitsune is my cousin's dog (sadly, I do not have the space) - but dogs seem to know I will pet them.

    that dogs give us poetry is only natural. after all, they give us their all. what more could a poet wish than unbridled love?

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  2. This is really good, Sherry. So honest and deep. I am glad you ARE a poet and that the words still come.

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