When I write a poem, it often stands alone. However, there are times that it becomes a poem that sparks another poem and another and another. A trilogy or quadrilogy or pentalogy or even a hexalogy of poems. Don’t you love those words? Who dreamed them?
When I wrote the first poem, To the God of Sunlight, it became just that for me. Actually, it grew into a hexalogy of poems, that is six interconnected poems.
These poems toppled out, one after the other.
Here is the second poem:
The Eleventh Hour
© by Christine O’Brien
Not to say we shouldn’t desire more
of that which feeds the hungering soul.
For such yearning, it seems, opens the door
as we stare out upon a distant knoll.
Comfortable complacency is fine.
We all need pauses in our quest for more.
Grateful for the banquet upon which we dine,
fingers laced, beside the fireplace, shut the door.
But when the bell tolls the eleventh hour,
mustn’t we from our sedentary rise
step into our uncomfortable power
–this before our comforts become a vise?
The hungering soul feasts on freedom.
Quick! They are capturing the kingdom.
Have you had this experience–a poem that arrives in segments? Give yourself a poetic few hours writing about something for which you have passion and see where you go.