mold my thoughts
fast enough, catch
lies in silence
full, shaping no words,
somewhere inside, mute.
Paul got me thinking about snowballs, but my brain kept running slightly differently from what he described. Is there a name for this form? Each line has one more syllable than the previous line, and then starts over again at one syllable after the fifth line. In any case, it’s almost April, so it’s time to remind myself just how much I’m not a poet … and how much I continue to make poems in spite of that fact.
Are we really at the 27th already? Can almost the whole of March be behind us? Crazy.
Check out all of today’s slices at Two Writing Teachers.