 |
| photo by Dan Wilcox |
spoken
words
even
the poems I keep quiet
pocket
tucked or boxed shoved
beneath
my bed or sofa or
where
ever I find a place to sleep
are
spoken inside me at least
but
the ones I share out loud
whether
with you or you
and
you in the back of the room too
are
my soul's necessary breathing
winning
out over my flawed humanity's
willingness
to deceive destiny
time
and again
begin
the poem with metaphor
for
something else
for
something missing
ghosts
for example lack the body
to
complete the cycle back to life
they
linger in short frequency
deep
pooled gathered memories
and
scrawl the patterns
that
day and night make
with
the wobble gravity
we
spin around each moment of
they
whisper you can go
further
than now and
still
enjoy the ride
take
your hands off the wheel
put
your feet up
listen
to the wail of the wind
and
bleed the carve out loud
you
never know when
someone
might recognize a song
you've
kept quiet
pocket
tucked or
otherwise
boxed and shoved
beneath
a bed or sofa
like
me
because
when
I speak
I
know
a
quiet poet
isn't
free
EJR
©
I loved the above poem. I took a minute today to check you out 'cause I noticed the new picture. Love the hat (my main-man with soul for sure, lol)!
ReplyDeleteAs always, beautiful words; beautiful you. Proud of you.
Keep feeding me...