Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I want
to walk,
with you
on my Texas desert,
to stand near
you straight
as a Spanish Dagger,
to see your fingers
pick a bone bouquet
touching life
where I touch death
to hold a warm, white
pelvis up
to the glaring sun
and see
your red-blue worls
to feel you touch
my eyes as you touch canvas
to unfold
giant blooms.
~Pat Mora~
I've loved that poem since the 7th grade. I think it's stunning and I can hear it in my head.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Earlier, a couple of comments that were posted due to my fa-cheybook status got me thinking of poetry.
I can't write poetry but I love it. I love to read it, love to hear it... love what it does to words with its rhythm.
I have a poem that keeps going 'round my head ever since I opened up my Emily Dickinson book a month or so ago. I place it here now.
That never wrote to me,--
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see.
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge Tenderly of me!
