Lost in the Verbiage - March 20 2026

 

Lost in the Verbiage

March 20 2026

I have never started a poem

knowing how it ends.

It’s like a journey 

where I let the road take me

never mind where it goes.

In life, at least for me

not an easy thing.

I’m a planner.

I like certainty.

Losing control makes me squirm.

But since a poem isn’t real

but merely words

I go along for the ride,

surrendering 

to its blind turns

and sudden vistas,

its off-the-beaten-paths

and roadside attractions

no matter how corny they seem.

Even the double-backs 

 — when I got cocky

and couldn’t bother with a map —

don’t seem so bad

in retrospect. 

While a flat tire

in the middle of nowhere 

is just a test of manliness;

and a good story

once I punch it up

with a few choice embellishments. 

A poem

that takes me who-knows-where

without leaving home

or even my chair.

A poem 

I’m free to revise and revisit,

tinker with 

and hone.

Or simply toss

if I get lost in the verbiage

or stalled in a metaphor.

While real life

is consequential;

there’s no going back

or second chance

to get it right.

And if it takes a wrong turn

will leave you stranded

on some poorly travelled road

as darkness falls,

reflecting back

on the long journey

from super highway

to 2-lane blacktop

then washboard backroad,

abandoned by-pass

and a couple of gravel ruts

that end in dirt.

On all the accidents that got you there,

all the forks and turns

you can’t help but second guess. 

But then no one knows how it ends

when they first set out.

It’s not like a poem

where you get to start over

if you lose your way.

Instead, it’s serendipity

and choice after choice.

It might leave you contented

and ready to depart,

or leave you wallowing in the past;

overshadowed

by dark clouds of regret.