Wood shedding,
Feeling like Sonny Rollins
On the Williamsburg Bridge
Tossing saxophone jabs
Into the Brooklyn breeze,
The traffic answering back
With its own whirring
Midnight choruses
As I sit at my desk
Typing secret novels
That no one will ever read,
All in the name of getting
It all down,
All in the name of
Emptying my mind,
All in the name of
Writing and growing,
Knowing what I do
Is good but sometimes
Good simply isn't
Enough.
Wondering how many
Paintings Rothko threw
Out in the name of
Research,
Digging deeper
Into the psyche,
Peeling back each
Layer to uncover
The true voice,
The true vision,
To uncover the pieces
Of yourself that lay
Hidden and which
Are truly unique,
The parts that when
Inspected closely
Will begin to twinkle
In the moonlight,
And echo the sounds
From within the heart,
That's where the dreams
Which seem to disappear
In the daylight go to hide,
And it is this which
I wish to place on
The page,
The parts of myself
Which lay waiting for
The chance to shine,
The purest parts,
The hidden truths,
Something beyond ideas
Or ideals,
Maybe I'll never get
There and that's okay,
I've fallen in love
With the search.
Ted Jackins - North Carolina