Thursday, January 26, 2012

Never Said I Was

I'm not a writer. I tried. Luckily I quit before foisting my dreck on people.

I am a writer of letters, though...this year I'm taking part in the challenge:

Photobucket



I found this through a friend of mine who is also a member (as I am) of this great group:


Letter Writers Alliance


And to close, one of my favorite poems.


The Letter

by Amy Lowell

Little cramped words scrawling all over
the paper
Like draggled fly's legs,
What can you tell of the flaring moon
Through the oak leaves?
Or of my uncertain window and the
bare floor

Spattered with moonlight?
Your silly quirks and twists have nothing
in them
Of blossoming hawthorns,
And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth,
virgin of loveliness
Beneath my hand.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart
against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.