Pennies

At the top of the stairs lay a pair of pennies.
I found them on my way to work, my head
Down and drifting, thinking ahead
To the drive and my first sip of coffee.

Then, the pennies, one a heads-up
Promise of good fortune and its brother
Reversed and diffident as the dismal morning.
I picked them both up to even out my luck,

Tucked them away, just in case
I wanted to trade someone for a
Couple of their thoughts at the going rate
Or buy into an opinionated fray.

I’ve been looking, on purpose, for more moments on which I can hang a poem. The moments don’t have to be big or even particularly beautiful. A poet’s job is to point at something and say “Isn’t that something?” If I can do that to a sunset or a beautiful woman, I should also be ready to do that to a pair of pennies or an unexpected gust of wind in winter.

Which means that you’ll likely see more poems (and not see more poems as well!) as I get better at seeing the world around me and connecting what I see to the heart of my creativity.

I’m also playing with rhythm and sound outside of any poetic form. I figure if a poet wants to stray from the well-traveled roads, the new road he builds ought to be as lovely as he can make it. In my experience, poets who write freely too often write themselves free of the music their poetry makes when its read out loud in their hurry to be…whatever it is they’re trying to be with their poem. I want my poems to work (at least the ones not intended to work otherwise) out loud as well as on paper.