How to prune a poet

I’m not a prolific writer.

To get more lines from me

you’d have to prune me first—

grab your hand shears,

cut my creaking, errant excess out. 

 

But do it right, at the right times,

never in winter,

during my hibernation.

Trim me with a cultivator’s touch,

after languishing me with water,

nourishing me, tending my petals

as if you were in love.

 

Don’t hack, how brutal.

You could leave wounds 

that would never heal.

I could become infected;

then I’d lower my limbs

in a defeated poet’s stupor.

And at the most, I’d write of throbs,

an egregious injury

the likes of which you,

grimy gloved, would never feel.

 

Janet Lynn Davis
pub'd in Megaera, Spring 2006.

 

Comments

[aurora]

What an insightful, thought-provoking perspective of a writer's world. The presentation is appealing, as well.

[Robert]

Raw and real Janet. Good to see this side of you.

[matt]

Good analogy

[princess butterfly (kai)]

ditto everyone!

[steve]

I remember this one - really like it

[janet]

thanks, you all, for the thoughtful comments.

r - you mean i'm not "raw and real" all the time?! ;)

[Ward]

Well done!!