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Literature Text
we call ourselves poets
but we don't only write poetry.
sometimes, we paint the shabby walls with words
and translate sunsets into verse.
sometimes, we watch the world wilt and wrinkle
and then gaze in awe as it sprouts and re-blooms from its deadness.
sometimes, we speak in blue skies and turn thin air into a canvas
and other times we just sleep.
sometimes we just dream,
and other times, we construct
cities in our heads,
other times we sculpt landscapes.
we call ourselves poets,
but a word speaks a thousand pictures
which in turn speaks a thousand words each.
we call ourselves poets;
but all we do is take our freedom of speech
and multiply it,
turn it into freedom of everything, for all people
all we do is change perspectives, like photographers
all we do is make the world colorful, like artists
all we do is fill hearts with static and heads with new ideas, like teachers
i call myself a poet,
but words can't express what true poets are capable of.
but we don't only write poetry.
sometimes, we paint the shabby walls with words
and translate sunsets into verse.
sometimes, we watch the world wilt and wrinkle
and then gaze in awe as it sprouts and re-blooms from its deadness.
sometimes, we speak in blue skies and turn thin air into a canvas
and other times we just sleep.
sometimes we just dream,
and other times, we construct
cities in our heads,
other times we sculpt landscapes.
we call ourselves poets,
but a word speaks a thousand pictures
which in turn speaks a thousand words each.
we call ourselves poets;
but all we do is take our freedom of speech
and multiply it,
turn it into freedom of everything, for all people
all we do is change perspectives, like photographers
all we do is make the world colorful, like artists
all we do is fill hearts with static and heads with new ideas, like teachers
i call myself a poet,
but words can't express what true poets are capable of.
Literature
Winter Moon
High up in the sky The Moon is shining brightly On snow covered firs Mountain stream muffled by ice Intricate snowflakes dancing
Literature
reflective
One minute you will stand watching prior moments drift past your fingertips on kite strings. You will think, I could not have known such things would fly away. You will think, I was happier tied to such fragments of time. You will think, My heart sang for lack of knowledge. My heart leapt for ignorance. Witness now--the mouth of a tunnel, think then on the other end. Close your eyes and fall backward, into the shoes of former selves, envying their blindness to this present. Linger. Then lean back into reality-- your future shouldn't need to wander forward alone.
Literature
haibuns on moonflowers
Twilight scatters along your soft inky hair, your smooth milky skin, my gentle melody in your ears. Brightness blooms like wispy moonlight staining my nimble hands, spangling your silhouette before it melts into waxing nightfall. Our fingertips cradle trembling half-light, tangled within the chilly air. tumbling moonsong moonflowers pinned in your dusky hair Black velvet meadows - dark as the ebony sky - rustle underneath our heavy whispers. We shiver beneath the moon’s resounding sighs, moonsongs blown away in the ripening nightscape. Sweet nothings are never more elusive than tonight. moonflowers catch our windswept lullabies lost at night
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© 2015 - 2024 vicariouspoet
Comments5
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This is so ingeniously beautiful, from start to finish. I adored this phrase, particularly: "turn thin air into a canvas." Stunning piece, my dear -- as always!