Such hopes, defeats, and desperate wants,
The pages set them free.
I never kept a journal once,
All this time— it’s kept me.
Page 20, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
A day, a death. We lose ourselves,
Forgotten won’t confer.
To stay the grim, this pen compels;
We wrote, therefore we were.
Page 19, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
A year’s adage, an age, a youth,
I think, therefore I drown.
What thoughts will settle into truth,
If we don’t write them down?
Page 18, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
But poets die and starve and groan,
To fill an empty space.
This hole inside, I carved alone.
I’ll hold it now with grace.
Page 17, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
‘A lovely compliment.’ said he,
My feather in his hat.
Another thing he stole from me,
Without a caveat.
Page 16, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
Once I’d begun to really doubt,
Eventually I said;
That he would make a poet out
Of anyone he wed.
Page 15, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
I was a poet all along,
These letters must remind.
My muse amused— I am the song.
And choose my own in kind.
Page 14, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
A storm is brewing, count the clouds;
Be still— the north wind knows.
What’s coming ripples through the crowds,
And I can hear the crows.
There is a foul odor on the wind, unignorable.
© Aimee Wood 2025
The waves and long experience,
Have sunk a ship below.
Mourn not this craft of Theseus,
We lost ours long ago.
© Aimee Wood 2022