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Acuity Denied Him...
by Ken HarnischAcuity denied him
He staggered out into the night
And slipped and fell on an icy sidewalk
Bruising his lumbar region
And concussing his brain
His heart, the doctors found out,
Was already slipping into stone
And beyond repair
It still beat strongly though
Which allowed him to ambulate
And go through the motions of living
And even some of the charade
Like laughing at the truly awful
And watching TV and thinking
Simon Cowell is a bloody genius
He was writing good things
Then, and his pen flew on
Into the night, words falling wry and dry and
Lean as Hemingway’s. But without
The feeling behind it he
Was wondering if good
Writing becomes mere inscription;
Objective perhaps, but cold
As the brick he banged his back against
He leaned away and felt the crackling
Of bruised, maybe broken bones
Knowing his writing
Wouldn’t be breaking many hearts
Least of all his own
He had his poetry to do that.
02/06/2009 Posted on 02/06/2009
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 02/06/09 at 03:10 PM ...ken, i echo dear Lori's very words...really! really! |
| Posted by Paganini Jones on 02/07/09 at 10:27 PM I have always been fond of poems speaking of poetry. Often the poetry becomes just pontification or self indulgence. But you avoid these twin pifalls: this poem speaks to my truth too. |
| Posted by Lori Blair on 12/07/11 at 11:58 PM Most Excellent! How many extra chances do we get? sometimes none at all..but how we wish we could! |
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