Poem of the Week #65 and #64

#65

Waste Not

Waste not
the wind
and the rain,
the usefulness of mud.

Waste not
the clouds
that buffet the sky
to make the sun more shiny.

Hold fast
to crust of bread,
and rind of cheese.
Civilizations have been built on less.

Let go
the need to cajole,
control, to push or prod.
All things come in good timing.

Rejoice
in this:
a child’s useless daydream.
It may ignite a dreamer.

Lisa Vihos



#64

The Body of My Words

This poem has bones that hold it high and straight,
with strong and calloused hands to lay it down.
The body of my words has found me late.

This poem has ears that listen at the gate,
with knees to bend and mouth to shout.
This poem has bones that hold it high and straight.

Each word, like blood that pumps a steady rate
and pulses ever gently under ground.
The body of my words has found me late.

With hips and torso bearing all the weight
of what I seek to find. Or, shall I drown?
This poem has bones that hold it high and straight.

My poem, my love, in whom I meet my fate
and in its eyes, see every memory I own.
The body of my words has found me late.

And then one day, like ashes on the grate,
the poem will burn and then rebirth, rebound.
This poem has bones that hold it high and straight.
The body of my words has found me late.

Lisa Vihos