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So here we all are,
discussing art, poetry and the modern poets.
Here we are, with our quirks
our tattoos, our playlists
our countries of origin.
I’m one hundred percent Greek,
my friend is Mexican, Australian,
American, Indian, Albanian,
Portuguese,
a mini-multicultural microcosm
of poets. We share the best lines
over morning coffee, exchange smiles
over lunch and family pictures over supper.
In another life we were at the courts
with a glass of wine and time on our hands,
quill and ink, ideologies and war,
we had each other close.
Now technology draws us so close
we can almost smell each other’s
perfume. We can almost feel
each other’s pain. We can create a
movement, change CEO’s reports,
shock them with a poetic force.
We are turning the hands
of time forward,
over wine.
And still art
doesn’t sell,
and poets do not make money
let us work our two jobs,
go back to school,
raise a family,
write at midnight,
check our status updates.
Here we are.
Ready for the darts
and critics.
Here we are
at your disposal
for abuse,
but at least
we have each other’s back
from oceans and miles away.
The poet’s circle
revives
itself.
Comments:
18
I’ll always have yours, Flameblooded Poetess. <3
Thank you for writing this.
you’re the best xx
Bravo Chrissy. Well said. “Ready for the darts and critics. Here we are at your disposal for abuse, but at least we have each other’s back.” Writers expose themselves like exhibitionists for all the world to see.
Much gratitude x
Right!!! One big poetic family!
More hugs xo
Greatly written. And as Erika kind said “one big poetic family .”
Open your arms for a hug xo
Sure. BTW would you mind checking out my complete poetry blog.
This is exactly it. Ugg how I adore you, in all our lifetimes
I adore you more.
ok even steven lol
good 🙂 Love you xxx
So freaking true! Well put 🙂
Thanks so much B, xo 🙂
We’ve woven a web, you and I,
attached to the world, for no matter
how long, inscribed, though poorly, for
scant eyes, still, as bright a love aura as
has ever glowed, tightly wound around
our hearts, yet soaring miles above
Moodeung’s fog to warm cold February.
Sparks fly off a round-rock fire rarely seen
in these parts. We laugh, it feels like we
shouldn’t be here on a cold winter night,
just a few meters from trails so packed
during the day. This charge will never
leave. We’ve marked this space but must
go to where the stars shine, deer run, art springs.
Keep my heart in your brain, words in your hair.
Matched lifelong yearning bursts in my hand,
fluorescent. Quick, pack what you need, let’s
flee! live life in the positive zone, expand
what we enjoy together, bound by the luck
that brought us this far. Where to next?
did i inspire that? humbled! love the words in your hair! amazing my friend! x
I admit you were not yet in my scope when I wrote this one. Plus, we’ve never hung out on Moodung mountain, at least as far as I know. How about this one then?
Here she blossoms fueled by soft desire.
Aching heart yearns for a simple, happy mate.
No one stops today, but she lit a fire.
X-Ray shows her fertile ground can’t wait.
Unless you are a fool, you will touch her now.
Enjoy it when you discover where and how.