Sunday Poem #2
Now this is what I feed myself: sleep,
in the nest of my feather bed; buttered
cream of wheat with goat’s milk and cardamom;
beethoven quartets, shimmering jazz;
renata tebaldi’s legs wrapped around
verdi. poems that bloom like roadside daisies:
jane hirshfield, seamus heaney
basho. rumi
white chrysanthemums in a blue vase
my fingers like warm wax around the barrel
of this pen; lined paper beaded with the
mercury of my heart. the peace of things;
their comfort, silently offered, their patient
giving. round plates with red and yellow rims
cobalt cups, hot as the kiln which fired them
the perfect heft of stainless steel forks
shallow ponds of spoons. the beauty–the
sturdy, honest beauty of things, ungelded
by tricks of light on water, innocent
of tidal undertow
(Sunday is play-with-poetry day on my blog. If you feel like it, please share your poems in the Comments. Let’s celebrate poetry together!)





We live in the same voice
We live under the same sky
While the candle dances
Brightly
Hearts skip and swell
When kindred spirits meet
~ Leigh-Anne Tyson
thank you once again for sharing this beautiful poem – this is a lovely ritual that you have created here. I look forward to reading next Sunday :-)
much love to you,
Leigh-Anne/ quietlaughter
xo
Leigh-Anne´s last post … We live in the same voice
Leigh-Anne, thanks for posting your lovely poem. I’ll look forward to reading more from you next Sunday.
xo Hiro
Hiro Boga´s last post … Sunday Poem # 2
I love your poetry Hiro. I’ll stop by every Sunday.
Your adoring fan, Julie
Aww, thanks, Julie! I hope you’ll post a link to your own work here . . . art is poetry too.
xo Hiro
Hiro Boga´s last post … Sunday Poem # 2