Sometimes when I want to write a poem, I just start writing, some words from somewhere populating my head and I type them.

I did this today, hoping that they might lead to something meaningful. It seems to me they did, though it took a while.

About the time I wrote the fourth stanza, I realized that the narrator of this poem was the earth–at least the earth was one possible narrator–and that the earth was telling a story about being in love but feeling unheard.

I debated dropping the poem there, feeling that such a theme was unsophisticated and then arguing with myself, who cares about sophistication?

More than this, I tend to give myself freedom to work with a poem before I cast judgement. I let myself hear the words and listen for the poetry in them first and then I’ll go through the harder task of herding them into something meaningful.

Initially, the lyricism of the poem often guides word choice and I write without stanza breaks. Here though, I wrote right from the beginning with two line stanzas and knew that I wanted there to be seven of these giving me a fourteen line poem.

The last stanza of this poem was hard to figure out. After a few tries that felt weighty and intense, I decided I wanted to end on a playful note.

I worked a bit with the line “I’ll take my ball and go home”, liking the ball as moon metaphor and the implication that the narrator is fed up and also a bit immature.

That didn’t fit, though, and I hit on the idea of a possible modern day breakup which, though I only think this because I’ve watched television shows, is done through texting.

I’m cautious to write about things I don’t really know such as texting someone you’ve just broke up with, but I went with it.

There is a hint of playfulness in the first line with the unusual pairing of “wax and flow” vs “wax and wane” or “ebb and flow”.

I tried to use “ebb and wane” in the last stanza but that was the moment the poem felt like it was trying to carry too much water.

I ran the poem through Chat GPT just now and as much as AI scares me and makes me wary, it was able to analyze the poem and reassure me that the poem is doing what I want it to do.

In its analysis of the lyricism of the poem I got this:

Well, that’s just what I was hoping I did.

The picture was taken in 2016 at Camp Billings on the shore of Lake Fairlee in Vermont during the closing camp ceremony at the end of the summer. The light to the left is a floating wooden triangle holding two hundred or so lit candles. Hidden behind that light is a rowboat in which the camp bugler is playing taps.

Hidden on the shore are two hundred people wishing that the summer never had to end.

Here’s WordPress’s analysis of the poem as an image:

Huh. Interesting.