I Think

[Sarry]

I Think

I was going to paint today but I think I will read.
The wind threatens the metal roof on my self made porch.
Bang, bang while in tune with the flapping of the hay tarp.
The dogs want in. The cats mouth a mute cry at the window.
The horses are dancing and ignoring their feed.
The weather is horrible. I love it.

So I light a fire in my blackened wood stove.
It was a gift you know, from a man who didn’t know how to love me.
As it finds life I put the kettle on.
And look on my table for a book.
All I see is bills and an offer to save a child.
I was going to read today but I think I will write.

Tomorrow I return to my job with the hopeless.
I couldn’t do it, she said, but then again if you can…
She doesn’t understand my passion.
Ah who needs a pen when I have this machine?
And where is the music to help me along?
I was going to write today but I think I will sing.

I search out some songs but they all seem so sad.
Yet I sing along here as I type.
Old speakers full of static yet the song still the same.
As I type I feel tears and I think, go away.
My dogs snore. I miss my Mother. I need a lover.
I was going to sing today but I think I will cry.

I open my diary searching for a taste of old times.
When no battle was hard enough in a life that was hope.
I notice my hands as a tear hits the pages.
Are those dark spots on my skin new? Age is invading.
Don’t get me wrong as I am somewhat content.
I was going to cry today but I think I will just believe.

So I closed my diary and open the Bible.
Once grasped in my grandmother’s hands.
As she fell to her knees and tried to repent.
I remembered the Promise Keepers and slammed it shut.
I was going to believe today but I think I will not.


The day is half gone and what have I done?
I look outside only to see grey, green and brown.
A few dead leaves desperately clinging to the maple tree.
Some sagebrush swirling in bits to the tune of the wind.
What was I going to do today? I have simply forgotten.

SF

[margaret]

Thank you Sarah,

I like your poem very much. I can really identify with those days when nothing we planned works out as we get sidetracked by distractions and emotions along the way.

Just a little correction in the 2nd verse if you don't mind me bringing it up.

So I light a fire in my blackened wood stove.
It was a gift you know, from a man who didn’t know how love me.

just the addition of "to" in the 2nd line so it reads
from a man who didn't know how to love me

Margaret

[lizzytysh]

Hi Sarry ~

That's the correction I spotted, too, as the one you probably had in mind when you asked about Editing a poem. I'm glad it's not the poem dedicated to your mother, and glad that it also includes your mother.

This wonderful poem captures how we search for feelings of peace in the midst of grief... the desolation and distraction that creep in, despite our efforts to settle on something. The movement of your poem from one attempted endeavour to the next is very effective. In your first verse, you do such an excellent job of painting a description of the weather without talking about it directly, but by describing its effects.

This is the second poem you've posted, Sarry, that I've been able to relate to very much.


Love,
Lizzy

[Sarry]

Margaret & Lizzy, thank you for your help in repairing my submission! It is now repaired for what it is. Peace.

Sarah

[mat james]

I love the mood, the melancholy, the detachment and the way you "re-incarnate" each verse. Mat.

[Bernard]

Hi Sarah,

I think your poem is wonderful. It works for me on so many different levels. The progression throughout this piece is faultless. And your description of your home and surroundings is vivid; so much so it touched a chord from the memories of my early childhood.

A warm welcome to the forum

Bernard

[~greg]

SF,

It's great!
And your refrain doesn't come across as gimmicky.
Nor forced. It is very skillfully done.

Which is why I think the title is quite wrong.

(I don't know; maybe "The Forgotten". Or "Leaves".
Or something. Just not "I think"!

"I think" is the kind of title I'd think up.
And I hate my poetry.
If I were to think up a poem called "I think",
my refrain for it would be about as forced as a,
... I donno,...somebody's reasons for invading Iraq.)

Your poem is begging for a better title.
And it certainly deserves it.

[lizzytysh]

Dear Sarah ~

I want very much to tag on with everything that Mat, Bernard, and Greg said to you, so may I just do that?

It's also very impressive how the images in your first verse, describing how it is outside, sets up how you are feeling inside... and you embrace it .

These guys have written even more pointedly why your poem is so wonderful.


Love,
Lizzy

[mat james]

to the tune of the wind.

I'm with ~greg here.

The above phrase from your penultimate line is very evocative/poetical and could be considered as a title.
You do seem to be tuned by the wind on that day of contemplative reflections.

But!!!

"I Think" may express very well what you are doing in the poem. It is simple and clear. The full stop before a beginning. So don't listen to us if you are happy with the title as it is.

Beaut poem!

[Diane]

Sarry,

I located this poem just now, having once spotted it and made a mental note to come back and read properly some time. It is highly evocative and has a great ring of truth to it. A lovely flowing read. Thanks.

I hope you are still around somewhere.

Diane

[Sarry]

Thank you Diane and Lizzy too. I have been unable to write successfully this past month or so due to some personal issues but hopefully I will have something soon. Peace to both of you!

Sarah