Thursday, June 12, 2003
When I showed this to my writing group, several people identified with the first poem. The process of writing - particularly poetry - is often a display of emotion at great personal risk : but if it connects, it becomes something far more valauble than just a poem.
The other two poems describe Poets in the Pub and the Community Markets poetry reading.
Poet
I
I reach down my throat
draw out my innards
splay against a white page:
You read, and turn away
precious glitter in your eyes.
II
Guffaws, friendship
warm vinyl on red velvet
chink of ice on glass:
eyes quieten, then still
as my voice makes foray.
And then brighten
as I invoke the stars.
This is no desert,
but a shared feast of minds.
III
Paintings
held captive by chains
flutter in sunlight
Man in a suit
voice rounding up the foraging crowd
beckons: Come hear the poets!
The herd continues to graze
but some lift their heads
ears pricked to the lilt
of words in mysterious rhythms,
chanted by a circle of seers.
Piokiwi 2:56 pm
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