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a poem is that silence between heartbeats between fingers crushed together with sweat and denial and different shades of fortune beckoning with a stone fist. a beatific hermit sits upon its thumb face warm and windswept: an open robe and pages falling out from his teeth. a poem is found in smoke and silence raindrops and fire becoming steam and vision widening. open dream soma blurry focus. |
and that being said, what would a poet be? :-)| Posted on 2009-02-16 00:00:00 | by CrypticBard | [ Reply to This ] | my mercury | imaginings gliding unconsciously between through and in dark and light time and space ephemeral and forever are nothing without my stone fist rebellion the staunch sceam of defeat that slant ray sunlit flower there (only there) where nowhere is a poem is always (never) found and will always be waiting to be found -meh. whatever, your inspiring. I thought Id try a go at your comment poem thing. Cheers. and meow! Wolfebark chomp mmmmmmm...kitty! (????) | Posted on 2009-01-09 00:00:00 | by leftof_red | [ Reply to This ] | after reading this i sat a few minutes in silence , then wow !!!! what a great poem. | poetry is a passion and this poem is full of passion,i am sure that if you read this at a workshop, 3 things would happen,the audience would feel the "passion", you would recieve the "admiration," then the audience " the inspiration". great poem take care | Posted on 2008-12-05 00:00:00 | by eyeless in gaza | [ Reply to This ] | |