the flaw

Poem #235 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

a mistake

a mistake he made
and over

baking dough
shaped like a man
in an oven
heated up
to run too high

he wondered
if it was himself
so flawed

never to set free
the being

he has seen creation
once before
believes he knows
how he should do the thing

but always
his impatience rules
and he sets the oven
just a touch
too hasty

another batch
of unfulfilled
to throw
onto the discard pile

a small mountain
of the unreleased
who spend their time
not being

© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #236: Monet’s lily

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.