I started this blog a few days ago to showcase my research on Henrik Ibsen’s poetry.  I also hope it will become a place to share my own thoughts, reflections, and poetic musings.  So, I think it’s best if I give this blog a poetic sendoff a sort of inauguration.  Inspiration, as most writers know, comes from… well, somewhere.  A song, a face, a floor tile that was particularly interesting, or, gasp! we make them up.  This poem is one I wrote that sort of deals with the idea of ideas.  You know, a writer’s poem about writing.

“Do the pages dream?”

I flip open my notebook,
feel the leather binding
& unwind the cord
that keeps it shut, –
open, I run my fingers over
the heavy ink filled
pages, & I pause.

I had planned
to transcribe words to Word,
but my computer is fast asleep
in dreams of endless electric sheep,
& my notebook lies open,
the air in the room resounding: –
Speak to me / breathe,
breathe in the air.

&, dipping in the blackened ink,
I dream a blackened dream.

There it is!  My inauguration to the blogosphere.


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