Typewriter Series #3075 | 3.29.21

It’s been a bit since I’ve posted a Typewriter Series poem, and oddly, it’s not for lack of writing them. I’ve still been churning them out, still been writing everything from custom poetry, which is what today’s is, to the random spillings of my altogether random mind. Today, it’s a custom poem for a wonderful woman that reached out and wanted a bit of her story told. I had a blast writing it, as I always do, and the challenge to take bits and bobs of someone’s life, swirl them around, and hopefully spit out something meaningful and recognizable, is an intense one.

It’s an odd thing, posting these, as it seems the trend has been turning so much towards easier to digest works, that all social medias are bombarded by short poetry, that people just don’t have time for length. Who knows. I just know I’m still writing, and I’m going to keep sharing with you, if that’s alright.

To love is to lose, 

but it is the aftermath of loss

that pulls the net 

from below our tightrope feet.

We are such heights 

without the grace of safety,

we are the aching understanding

that the further we feel

the more it will hurt.

One foot, two,

left foot over right,

don’t look down but 

forward.  Arms wide

to hold more than balance,

but the world as it

spins.

Look at me,

 from where you are,

look at my stillness despite

the winds.  

I would fly if I fell, 

and I know you always loved

a winged thing.

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

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