On writing poetry


I write a poem about a falling leaf

and how it is a metaphor for life,

which is the same as being a metaphor for death.

I say that the leaf has had its time

and drifts into compost

cosying and cocooning tender seeds as it decomposes.


And I say that the leaf leaves behind

a bud on the branch that will burst

into a new leaf in the spring.

I say that the leaf is dead,

not pretending, or gone to a ‘better place’,

it has gone to make way for new life.

There is no place where leaves go when they have had their time,

except back to the earth.

As we will.


I read the poem I have written

and the concept seems clear to me.

The words string together coherently,

and there are no spelling mistakes.

I sigh.

Shite poem.