These Feet Are On The Proper Path - Brand New Typewriter Series Poem
Typewriter Series #3904 - A Slice Of My Life
I wrote this one awhile back, re-found it today for the first time, and loved it more now than I did then. I love it not for the beauty of the words in it, for I know not if they are beautiful and I trust you all to tell me if they are or not, but for the reminder of the moment it captured. Poetry for me is a release valve, I’ve told you this time and again, and it’s a chance for me to spill out the way my mind, my strange and exhausting Autistic mind, sees the world around me.
This poem is about a moment a second long, but worth an eternity in my memory. It’s a souvenir of those stolen breaths, as souvenir means “to remember” after all. This is Typewriter Series #3094, about what it was to sit inside and watch my wife have lunch outside with her daughter one day, almost 3 years ago.
This also shows me how long the backlog of my poetry truly is that I’ve not posted or shared with all of you. There are hundreds of poems my friends, Hundreds, and I want you to see them, here, exclusively, or perhaps in another book sometime soon. For now, here will do. This is a stolen second of my life, a glimpse inside a simple memory that meant more than you’d imagine. I hope you love it.
*A reminder: I’m going to be posting much more regularly this backlog of Typewriter Series poems, brand new, never-before-read, and if you wanna get in on it, I’d love to have you join me behind the little paywall. I hate charging it, but folks, times have been hard, and I cannot keep this place up and running with how much energy I put into it, without your help. It’s about 14cents a day and it changes my life. If you’d like to join us, it’d mean the world, and I extended the discount for Annual Memberships until the end of July. It’s now 20% off for EVERYONE who signs up for a year. Please do. Click the button below:
And the audio version with my silly, silly voice reading it for those of you who like to hear how I paced it in my head when I wrote it:
I love you all, hope you have a beautiful Friday.
It’s a magical set of verse, (to my impression) with the tenor of one whose active mind lies musing after a restless night full of recent memories exposed to the emerging light of dawn. My favorite imagery from the poem: “watched grin break out and spread like slow light after storm break.”
Your silly silly voice is the narrator in my dreams