RSS Feeds

Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Poetry Children

I can not bear
to let my ugly little children
be picked on by bullies.
My struggling little poems
hobbling about,
looking into holes
and poking at the sky.
Gathering moss and bark
and waving branches in the air.
Running over grass
with feet spreading wings,
and waving arms
that embrace the joy of light.

They speak only to the stones
and shadows,
sing to dandelions,
and say nothing to people,
who parse their sentences
and criticize their syllables.
They have a sense
belonging to coasts and bridges,
seeing from a distance,
floating above the ground,
buried in soil of darkness.
But gentle beyond words,
hiding, lest they be taunted
and made fun of,
and thrown away like imperfect valentines.

They do the best they can
being themselves,
saying what they say,
and I guard them with my life.
Protect them from the critics,
who chased all the poems
inside themselves away,
and let them drown.
For whom,
we throw garlands on the waves,
and all my little poems
wave good-bye to them, weeping.

Leave a Reply