It's only just occurred to me.
My poems are like my own handmade pieces of jewelry.
Words strung together carefully,
like glass beads that reflect and throw the light.
The most beautiful ones are the simplest,
but like jewelry it's all a matter of opinion.
I like the modern ones.
They don't have to sparkle.
They don't even need color.
A simple piece of silver,
strung carefully on a chain.
One ordinary phrase used extraordinarily,
strung on a chain of plain words.
Or I like the thick, chunky brightly colored rings
with several diamonds forming some tiny picture.
A picture that gives me an insight into my own soul,
or a picture of a mockingbird perched on a bramble, nothing more.
Or perhaps nothing at all.
I smile with this metaphor
and hold it close to my heart.
Then I clip on my Billy Collins necklace
and strut out the door.
