I find the beginnings of poems on the bus,
When the sky is still pinkredorange and changing,
And people are wiping sleep from their dream-worn eyes.
I usher these found poems into fruition,
In both fresh and saline water,
Like a midwife welcoming a birth-ripe infant from the womb to its mother’s milky breast,
When the sky has returned to inky dark,
And the moon glares with its one open omniscient eye.
They write themselves in fits and starts — these poems,
In quivers and trembles,
In gut-punches and sweet caresses
Felt from deep within my restlessness.
Images and feelings bubble to the surface
When I feel the heat of bodies around me,
When I feel the weight of existence around my shoulders,
Yours, mine, ours,
Like a wet fur blanket that I can’t pull off.
My thoughts churn and flood,
A whirlpool of Me and All,
And I must channel the flow to a singular point in three dimensions,
Though they originate from far beyond here.
But… I find these poems;
They are not Mine;
They are Ours.
β€π½xoxoxoπ½β€
wonderfully found and written
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Sindee!
LikeLiked by 1 person
beautiful. you shine through these words, my friend.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Ahhh!! Mike commented one of my poems! *blush. Thanks, man. πππ
LikeLiked by 1 person
Luv this post TJ, and the photo!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you kindly π
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh! I love this! Both your words and your lovely photo. π
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks Tara xoxo
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful. The text and the photo. Everything in you is beautiful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow. Thank you, Alexandre. That is very kind to say.
LikeLiked by 1 person
π
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your artistic talents go beyond painting!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Why thank you sir! π
LikeLiked by 1 person