Often I forget

Today I ponder what I wrote yesterday and the day before.  And the day before that.  Most often what I write has to do with what catches my attention in the morning.  Simply that. I wonder about returning to preach occasionally, and where and when and how that would be.  I remember my seminary preaching professor who declared: Every sermon is not a sonnet.  My sermons have never been sonnets.  Neither are my poems.  With the exception of the haiku, and an occasional villanelle, I write freely and shortly. Sermons too.  

Often I forget

What I wrote yesterday.

Once it is released

Into the world,

It becomes part of the whole.

It becomes part of the mosaic,

Or perhaps

It is grout.

No telling where

It will end up;

No telling

If it will be stone

Or binder

Or maybe

A place holder

To be discarded

When something better
Comes along.