aprils poems 2010
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My grandmother used to talk of "streakers"in Central Park asdaring urban pirates who removed their clothesto sail through the crowds.I imagine she wished she could join them,freeing herself of her upbringing so she could dash outamidst the wide-eyed public and maybe catch someone's attentionfor just a moment.Fingers cupped around her mug of tea,passing a cookie across the table to me,she no doubt felt landlocked in lifewhile all I could wonder about was,where did all their clothes go?
Why is it that every time you whisper,I see lightningflashing across the horizonwith sharp lines snapping and crackling;but whenever I hear myself talk,I only hear thunderrumbling deep insideon inaudible frequencies that shimmer and fade.
I'm convincedthe book is the picture that holds the fortunes of many;Here, inside this form, a story unfolds,and I unwrap myself from its tangle of wordsin order to find the end of the sentence,stranded here on the head of pin they call a periodwhile the world goes dancing on and onwithout me.
No I won't fly like that;Your heart beats too fast for me.My wings flap slowlyand I would rather let the windcarry me than me, carry the wind,so, no, I won't fly like that;although I marvel at your speedand wonder at what you missin your rush to get there so quick.No, I won't fly like that;I'm content to float herewhere the air is so stillI can fade away and think.
In the orchard, I climb trees in places where the branches twist and turnas if they are a road map to some forgotten placeand my eyes travel these roads to remember.I swerve to avoid the humming bees,and ignore the other travelers along the roadas I reach out my fingers to grasp the treasuresof time and space.In the orchard, I remember the taste of memoryas sweetness and sourand bite into life with my eyes closed,thinking always that this moment may soon disappear.I rest, weary, on the damp grassand gaze up through the branches, again,my vision zigzagging towards the blue sky above;my world crunching in my mouth.In the orchard, I climb treesin places where the branches twist and turn ...
Reflections on a Poem
Writing a Poem by Starlight
Inspired by Images
Poems by Kevin
Thanks to Bud for inspiration
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