Poems by Cassandra Lowery

Tone-deaf?

Tone-deaf?

A little thing of
a song it is--
composed in keen stanza.
Muscular language
hefts soul-weight,
unburdening,
joy-bringing.
The union of Creator and poet--
a divine marriage
of meter and image--
birthing glory.

So I jot on,
seeking the mystical union
of starry climes and blotted ink.
But my images stumble,
tumble,
shapeless shirts in my dryer
spinning round and round.
I grasp vainly,
trying to capture nebulous thought--
burning my fingers on hot metaphor.
Impressive images escape
the tip of my pen nib
where ink enters vibration of thought.

Is such grace intended for me?

Or am I as an appreciative listener doomed,
politely applauding others' gloried imagery
while stifling my own cracked voice,
unable to carry the tune?

--Cassandra Lowery, pen name for Susanne Barrett