A gift comes to you when you are ready to receive it.  Poetry is my new found gift.  I went to the bookstore and randomly picked Garrison Keillor’s collection of poems, Good Poems for Hard Times.  This particular poem I am sharing connects with feeling  I’ve had of late, I like to call  “gray matter”.   Gray as  in our thinking capacity.  Gray as in “on the fence”.  Gray as in it would be easier just to have black and white answers. Really?  Maybe?  No!

Early to bed tonight.  Awake at 2:00 am.  Felt the tuck to share this now.  Don Miller suggests a way to improve your writing is to read and memorize poetry.  I trust him, so I thought I would give it shot.  I have yet to memorize any, but what I have come to appreciate is how a poem can paint such a vivid picture.  The poets soul is projected through your lens.  You contemplate what the poets meant.  Where they were when they wrote it.  Their mood.  Their motivation.  Their disconnection or total connection to their bodies as they wrote.  Did it stream effortlessly or did it torment them?

The Rules of Evidence by Lee Robinson

What you want to say is inadmissible.

Say it anyway.

Say it again.

What they tell you is irrelevant can’t be denied and will eventually be heard.

Every question is a leading question.

Ask it anyway, then expect what you won’t get.

There is no such thing as the original so you’ll have to make do with a reasonable facsimile.

The history of the world is hearsay. Hear it.

The whole truth is unspeakable and nothing but the truth is a lie.

I swear this.

My oath is a kiss.

I swear by everything incredible.

I carry gifts in my B*a*g, including this book/poem.  Some just for myself and some to be passed on to others.  Look in your B*a*g.  Find any gifts?   I come to my own conclusion with this poem.  If I share it, it may ruin this poem’s gift to you.  Hope  you enjoyed it.