I’m thankful today for poetry.
The imagery. The rhythm. The sounds. The lines. Reading it, today. Hearing it, now. Daring my damaged brain to imagine, to dream, to notice. Luring my loving heart toward care again. Today. This morning. Now.
Words open readers’ minds to think and feel and wonder. Windows open. Doors open. Moods change, suddenly or slowly. Bright lights begin to dim. They quickly shine again, then fade.
Walking into rooms then out. Running into fields then through. Investigating with and without. Noticing the old and the new. Words which have aged gracefully, peacefully, appealingly. Words which are waking to life for the first time, for this time, for now.
This now. Today’s morning. An only time as a reality of itself but also as a pleasure for repetition. More moments. More nows. More todays. More mornings of poetic motion, of pieces and portions, imagery and rhythm and sounds and lines. Curving lines through hills and streams. Hearing feet tapping as precision with purpose. Hearing water flowing as a lover racing home.
Nearby and distant. Cruel and safe. Harsh and soft. Long stories rhyming in a step-by-step-by-step endeavor of revelation. Brief stories shockingly shaking, making points. Stories of them, for them, of us, for us.
Words. Fit. Together.
Words. Fall. Apart.
Hearing clear words nearby, noticing moods they bring. Reading words held by my hands, expecting experiences they offer.
Not controlled. Not controlling. It’s about noticing. Noticing now, the same. Noticing again, differently. And again, and differently again.
Space covered with these friends of mine. Near me, they stay. Then they hide. I find them, maybe. But the process of sliding downhill on a windy day like today is fitting. Words are the wind. Words are the weather. Words are the ground. Words are the rain. Words are the heat. Words are the cold.
Let us not miss them. Let us not ignore them. They rhyme at their own times. They reveal their rhythm in their own ways. They capture us, as pace and flow and image dare again our damage brains and broken hearts to notice.
I especially like this: “But the process of sliding downhill on a windy day like today is fitting. Words are the wind. Words are the weather. Words are the ground. Words are the rain. Words are the heat. Words are the cold.”
Thanks, Brian. I finished a ghostwriting assignment and three writing assignments, so words have been on my mind. Poetry, of course, is my favored flow. I am enjoying your blog.