What did you do on Poetry Day?
Did you look at someone you love—and quickly look away?
Did you write a poem, and feel awkward doing so?
Awkward—because of what all bright days and all dark branches know?
Were you able to love one moment—a single moment—that flew,
A moment, like a dream, which loomed up like a rain cloud, and sighed, in front of you?
And because your moment was sad, and yet happy, you felt in your heart what that moment knew?
Did you peek in your heart, and find out what was true?

Did it tell you poetry’s secret?  That poetry is love from start to end?
That love lives secretly in perfumed paper we send?
Does love make you uncomfortable?  Well, that’s okay.
You are not a poet. The muse does not love you, anyway.




  1. noochinator said,

    October 16, 2015 at 6:14 pm

    “Did you look at someone you love—and quickly look away?”

    On that day and every other day!

  2. Andrew said,

    October 18, 2015 at 5:58 pm

    My muse only loves me. Stop trying to hit on my Muse.

  3. Andrew said,

    October 19, 2015 at 1:14 am

    Tom, I like these last 2 poems a lot for their rhythm and humor.

    The lady above seems to be checking her Facebook page…

    • thomasbrady said,

      October 19, 2015 at 10:33 am

      Yes this poem does seem like it is arguing against itself, mocking the non-poet beloved, mocking, by arguing too strenuously for it, romance and love. Well yes and no. How does a poet inspire non-poets? What does Poetry Day mean to non-poets? What is a poet and what is a non-poet? How does poetry start? The way love does? What is the relationship between the two? The poet/lover and the non-poet/ friend? The poet/friend and the non-poet/lover? Is poetry something that “is” or something that we “send?”

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