Poem 009: Moth on the Window


It's a moth on the window,
trying to reach light
separated by glass pane,
a wall holding back small body
in the glow-speckled dark
from what lies ahead.
A brightness cascading
in precise angles,
warming at the edges,
clarifying what the speckles
won't illuminate.
The moth doesn't know
the tangles of glass,
the unyeilding translucence.
It doesn't know how to pass
what all seems to be so
clear.

...

Okayyy. The language in this poem is struggling to say the least. It's not all flowing in the same vein, which makes it feel off. There's phrases I think sing true to my style like "glow-speckled dark" and "tangles of glass," but there is a distinct inconsistency to the voice of this poem than is in my usual work

I also think there's distinct skips where I could dive deeper and expand the image, be generally more evocative. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's clunky, but I think it's clear I could take more time with it and explore the lines I haven't written yet. There's definitely more to this poem. That'll be fun during revision!

This poem makes me think of Cocklebur (my poem Threaded did too!), in that there is this It one can assign value to, regardless of what my intentions for it may be. I sort of like that quality. I think it can either stump a reader or let them immerse themselves in the poem by establishing their own intimate meaning to the It.

What are your favorite lines?
Tell me in the comments! 💭

008: Threaded - 010: Coming Soon



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