I’ve got nothing to do but spin
For you, explain this life
Journey I’m thumbing through.
They take my pen I’ll scratch in the dust
On the buildings and car windows
If I really must. If they take my food
And fork and spoon—well I fuel this fire
With wood, not food.
With authentic giggles and hand-washed
Laundry and the line at the bus stop and
Rainy day hammocking
And the sweat on my brow meeting
The rush of the lake and the dance
Of the squirrels on the leaves which shake—
These are things they can never take.
These are things they can never fake.
These are the things that I want to create
So I swing here
And spin for you.
I love your poetry! I like how sound-driven this one is, and the transcendentalist undertones. Keep it up!
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I love your poetry! Always beautiful, always interesting. This one is particularly sound-driven, which is something I’ve been trying to incorporate more in my own poetry and so have a great respect for! Keep it up Josie
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Thank you so much! That’s wonderful of you to say. Good luck with your poetry!
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