Poetry is a Sharp Match

This post talks about an automatic metaphor generator I created, which led to this metaphor, poetry is a sharp match, which led to this poem.

Photo by Matt Seymour on Unsplash

poetry is a sharp match

and like me, you might find it necessary sometimes
to lean in and feel the warmth of images struck
against the day’s cold stone, or, when metaphors
sprinkle tinder on your smoldering soul,
you might blow it softly back to flame.
Huddled around a flickering poem, we might find ourselves
warming our faces, shoulders touching, hands outstretched,
our backs turned against the cold. Basking,
we might forget that
poetry cuts, too, like a knife
through the ropes that bind,
like a sword.

— Steve Peterson

After Seamus Heaney’s, Postscript

This was inspired by Seamus Heaney’s, Postscript. I’ve been working outside a lot this summer (as usual). It’s been hot and humid. Another world entirely from spring and fall.

Reading Heaney’s poem caused me to think about how even though summer in Iowa is so much different than fall in Ireland there is a presence to it, too.

Photo by Ruben Engel on Unsplash

After Seamus Heaney’s, Postscript

And someday take the time to walk up the hill, beyond
the still oaks that look over the valley. Go on farther,
into the old field now filled with goldenrod and Indian grass.
Do this in June or July when the sun is high, as the
last drenching rains are drawn up by the green and
exhaled into the air; when even the dragonflies pause
to rest on glistening stems of grass. Stillness and
waiting. The sun and humid air press you into the ground
until your legs no longer move. Stand still.
Draw a breath. Feel the steamy air enter
your lungs, feel your feet planted on the earth, and
the sweat trickle down your back. Know that all around you,
all that moves stands still, waiting, and all that stands still
stretches upward toward the heavy sun. And for a moment,
you might feel the convenient lines that separate plant
and animal, animate and inanimate, the quick and the dead
shimmer and blur.

– Steve Peterson