Posted by: Ron DuBour | December 29, 2017

“Poetic Convergence”~by Michael Graves



“Poetic Convergence”

Poetry should not
simply be the act of
finding words that rhyme 
and placing them in measured lines
any more than sex should be
the monotonous, repetitive rubbing
together of skin
in the dark.

Words mingle like potential
lovers in festival masks
considering convergence.

Lacking direction, they mill about
forming lame conversation and
desperate small talk
hoping for more. Looking
for meaningful (or not) conjunction.
For counterpoint, wrapping
hungrily one around the other
in penetrating juxtaposition
shuddering alliteration.
Yearning for the onomatopoeic concatenation of sounds
which in the end, fill the room, and hang
in the mind.

Words are sounds, rolled back
and forth on the warm
slippery, surface of the minds tongue.
Moved and molded
again and again, until
ready to be entered
on the page.

The best arrangements are rarely

Twist them until they scream
with delight.
Tweak them until their meaning is
rigid and undeniable.
Take them, and travel to a place of wonder, because
cliche is so
humdrum-predictable. The steady
rhythm of a dull saw, that
to sleep.

No life.
No excitement.
No spice. No tightening
gasp of delight
in the mind, at a glimpse of something
hoped for. A door
that opens into a wondrous new place
of transcendent ecstasy. A glimpse
of the holy vision.

When poetry causes the mind to catch it’s breath
it is working.

–Graves 11/22/12

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