Afternoon Poetry

The word “poetry” elicits a wide variety of responses from people, but the most common one seems to be exhausted disinterest.  Asking someone to read a poem is like asking them to complete a math problem.  I understand, I really do.  But, I took a course in American Literature last spring and developed a new appreciation for it – although more for the free verse style of Walt Whitman.      

This weekend I decided to write a short poem with the intention of taking a picture to go with it.   I’m not normally poetic – I prefer writing short stories and am steadily working on book about my Irish adventures.  However, there was a vision in my head I needed to somehow express this weekend.   I have absolutely no idea what title to give it. 

Thank you, Ronna for helping me put together this shot!   Here is the yet to be named poem.

In this journey, he is the kicked-up dust on the road
that settles to the ground moments after I pass by.   

The wind lifts the fading footprint into the air,
and it becomes a swiftly diffusing memory across the ethers.    

And you, my love, are the phantasm of a wandering spirit. 
You flicker across the horizon, pulling my heart forward but never closer.