I call out to you in the dead of night.
Dawn seems so far away.
Enlightenment is shrouded in shadow.
A moment of solitary despair.
A moonbeam of ecstasy
and words appear.
The hoot and screech of owls pivot the changing light.
Even a poet feels the weight of sleep heavy on her eyes, when it was poetry that roused her from her bed.
To rejoice as a poet, you must learn to mourn with bluebells and violets, roost with rooks and crows in tall trees, where a nightingale might sing yet.
Kim M. Russell, 16th April 2019
Anmol is our host this Tuesday. He encourages us to celebrate the poetics of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who recently turned 100. He has shared Ferlinghetti’s poem ‘Poetry as Insurgent Art (I am signalling you through the flames)’ and, as Day 16’s challenge, asks us to write a poem entitled ‘Poetry as…’, perhaps in the style of Ferlinghetti.