The birth of a poem...

The essence of very tiny detail, like a carefully placed comma, or an invisible sigh of admiration, distilled into dewdrops sliding over the long green leaves that protect tulips from overexposure, redeeming the beautiful bold color and adding a dimension of its own.

Then letting it go into thin air, like a weightless particle,arriving in far-away places, like a carefully thought-out idea, a blissful singular event, a flash of infinitesimal brightness, arriving at noon, completely negating shadows and at the same time completely absolving them.

The reign of calm arrived with these words and it is here to stay...



Monday, April 23, 2012

Words (In their Defense)

People often calculate.
They expect the excess of sinners
To outweigh anything they've been dealt.
Should anyone articulate the delicate finger pointed
Towards a wretched soul
It immediately brings forth the shiny halo of a saint.
Marching in to their defense:
An army of angels on heavenly orders
Messaging the lower echelons of delegated faith.
Counting footsteps through the brittle grass.
The road to contentment.
People rarely know what they're on about.
Nobody cares.

Dewdrops are beautiful as they glisten
On the grass, but seldom is the eye ready
to perceive, and without patience
there cannot be important discoveries.

People speculate. There's a stone
and broken glass and water everywhere.
Soon the story is woven and the water turns into blood
And the stone turns into a sharp blade.
Life not taken seriously. Ends up on a slab
For a gossip post mortem.
Feels papery. Enter:  the scavengers.