The only problem I have when the weather finally turns nice (and for the record, it's taken its sweet time in getting here) is that it makes me forget to do things like write poetry. I wish I could say that it's because I am out there, LIVING poetry, but that's pretty pretentious-sounding, and the truth of it is that I am usually just busy doing other things in the nice weather, and I forget. Or, I remember....at 2 0'clock in the morning. Either way, it's not conducive to getting poetry out on time.
But, here we are, halfway through the month, and still going pretty strong. Well, at least I am enjoying it. What a better way to enjoy than by writing and reading more poetry??? The first comes from an experience I had last Friday that was unremarkable, and yet, important. It did not change my life, but it did renew some of my faith in humanity.
A Simple Act
it cost me nothing,
and i gained the world,
an appreciation of a culture older than my own,
a language different
but valued more,
where the script itself is valued as art.
and a man only wanted to
write the name of his son.
i helped him,
showed him the tool,
and watched an unpracticed hand turn
a simple board to beauty,
just by writing a name.
how important,
the name of the son -
family, life, the future -
how beautifully simple,
the love of a father.
Smoke
elemental,
a trusting embrace of the air
acrid smell,
something is burning,
to be feared,
wondered at,
enjoyed,
explored.
it empowers me,
clothes me in a velvet protectorate
where i feel no pain
and see all,
an elusive trance
where my movements seem far away from my body -
i am born anew today,
though i lived long ago.
That's all for now!
Thanks for reading,
Me
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