Here is the first draft of a poem I started this week. It is coming from all this talk about creation in class. It might turn into a series for my chap book. Maybe I will read it in class next time if the feedback is scarse here.
And:
If anyone knows how to expand the post area's width, I'd be grateful to know.

Grasp (In four parts)

Practice

Measuring nothing by the length of our hands,

by marks on bones, collection of triumphs over zero

make boxes through L’s and 7’s

with our fingers

man’s infinite reference to right angles

Children spelling numbers and letters, with their bodies in fields

Sport, the collections of bored,

masters of their own reality

diverging points over the imaginary goal

Becoming our entertainers, catching our eyes, gaining our subscriptions

Cause

Undulating what is remnant,

Stirred into perimeter known as shape,

A collection of mind, a volcano pushed between cupped hands

Saxons celebrated the equinox in hopes that the sun would rise again

While we celebrate ourselves today so that we might exist tomorrow

Like raising stone, we grasp the autograph of innovation to our senses

Focus

Oscillating lace, the modified fibers

Superfeilds streaming under it’s seem

Behind, a shimmering gambit,

Friction bound

In the clutches, edges, perimeters,

of supernova

Stunted we duck into common shortcuts

Pairing stratagems with instant breakfast powders

Skipping thousands of years

Of arranging carbon strands

Into perfect rope cutters

Results

In the same breath,

Bees swim

Making possible

Championship over mass

Again, how our entertainers triumph,

Again, We are wards to video cassette recorders

(Constancy of artificial light settling in our brain like quicksilver)

Familiarizing ourselves with greatness from their contribution to comfort

That being made whole what broken setback

Needed fixing

In this constellation of the human reach,

One can learn to breathe deeper,

It’s their choice to do it all the time