Is there something about the world around you that’s so prose
That you must run away?
Come here, sit and read?
There is something missing.
So take in these chicken scratches, turn these marks to sound
And in listening to words that are not there
Imagine flight on a wing, and a prayer?
For it is the doom of man to dream, to make
Is there any word for nature to take?
We try, but no. For how can you conjure the scent
Of salt spray or pine, if you’ve not smelt it?
The wind will whisper through those pines,
but that story is not English.
I cannot capture the endless flowing of the stream
In finite words. This is the inadequacy of my poetness.
With any luck, and some magic, I’ll hint at it
And your heart will swell the way the water does
when it meets your body, how it gives, and takes away,
And moves you.
How the wind speaks, and licks the heat from you
And fills you with vitality. It takes the sandbag from
Inside you, and puts the idol in it’s place. Tilt your head
In a certain way and you’ll hear the sunlight
Tickling the grass. God is speaking to you
In a thousand ways. It is not to hear with ears.
Become swollen with it, let it fill you
The bear will not eat you if it is within you
Let not these words lie
Let the truth shine despite them
20170823 poets united