Word Bridge

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