Inspiration - a poem
the tapestry of your body from heel
to halo is woven in heart and soul
you are hidden seams of gold in barren
landfills and dormant seeds in unploughed dirt
you unveil the sky’s demeanour to
the earth - the horizon seals the line
from valley to the peak’s caressing touch
you are inside the wailing ambulance
that steals every organ from death’s firm grip
stitching the wound round the entrails of
tattered hope- free from time’s slow butchery
in the cortex burns a sacred torch that
shines the precipice beside the dark edge
of things - what is not shows the thing that is
you pull the oceans and light the mountains
you bless the stars and call the moon to play
cathedral aisles echo songs of praise
your currencies of light and shade are spent
to purchase wealth from the dark nothingness
you are the balance where life weighs its worth
you are the discordant chord sweetly fit
in the russet mists of passionate dreams
you are the impossibility made
true you are something from nothing and the
alchemy and the witch's magical
brew – the breath of life the giver of all.
Inspiration:
c.1300, "immediate influence of God or a god," especially that under which the holy books were written, from O.Fr. inspiration, from L.L. inspirationem (nom. inspiratio), from L. inspiratus, pp. of inspirare "inspire, inflame, blow into," from in-"in" + spirare "to breathe"
other poems....
- Morning Routine Poem
When I wake you are gone Not for long - where you were the sheet is warm Your clothes are flung around the laundry basket I pick them up and place them inside Your laziness is spread across the... - Body chords - a poem
Body chords shuffle the chords round the torniquet a shrinking heartbeat drains our souls a song rises between the ribs lain by hands turned away by life the music sings in a vein of blood ... - Haikus - Needs must
Wanting to produce a hub but lacking any inspiration came across a hub by Russ Baleson about haiku. They're easy to write, probably impossible to write well but best of all they're fun in a cryptic... - Finsbury Park Station - a poem
I have seen the death certificate died in Islington Workhouse 1914 Dead toes under starched sheets A name in copperplate - a plumber in Angel Court Inside my veins I carry the blood of people who... - Poems with no home
Have had poems lying dormant on my hard drive. They needed a home, so I've moved them here. I can never decide whether I like my poems or not! If you read them I hope you like them. Three poems made... - Racehorse - a poem
Your eyes are black and wild Your body is taut and perfect as Roman sculpture The animal is born to run You dance in the paddock Anxious to be the thing you are Your nostrils flare as if breathing...