i am a slow stream sparkling in the cold light of a november sun
moving flowing opening turning eddies of ideas pooling at the side
under brambles and fallen limbs i swirl in rich circles of letters
sounds fish letters memories dad
i listen for the burble and churn
give voice to the forgotten and lost
dreams i had as a child now awake and riffing in me
i cajole the river
staying in bed a bit longer
i could use the sleep
but this river of mine
once illuminated
pulls at my hopes, awakens more ideas, flows clean and cold
pure emotion and chemistry become
poems songs stories
life
and my expression within that life
of
losses unrepaired
lovers suffering nearby
children making mistakes and not learning from them
and me
all this me
all the time
a flow and wash of chemicals of what
i might discover
by dipping my hand in the stream
feeling the freezing shock to numbness to still
awakened by letters
assembling in some side pool of my mind
full of bright fish deep green grasses waving
swirl and dart
alive in each new letter word combination and recombination
finding listening hoping
organizing the sounds in my mouth silently reciting
the river of mind

*i am here* < index page

© 2023 – a walt whitman ai poem by human john mcelhenney