"Poetry is when an emotion has found
its thought and the thought has found the words."
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 12, 2025
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Haiku Monday - treasure...
Words. Masterfully
composed. Expressed vibrantly.
Finessed image. Words.
*
Mel Fisher, late of
Key West, found his hidden in
a sunken ship's ribs.
*
Follow the yellow
brick road. But stay away from
fields of poppies.
*****************************************
This week's Haiku Monday is being hosted by
Chickory.
The deadline to submit haiku is 9 pm Monday.
There will be voting (until 6 pm Tuesday)to determine
the winner.
Click on the link to read all the details for the contest
and go to comments to read the entries.
Oh, yeah... the theme she chose is - Treasure.
*******************
(more but without visuals)
one treasure is that
it could be worse. Cherishing
breath, health, sanity.
*
oh, if I were to
walk the path that leads to you,
would X mark the spot?
*
Love that remains through
fire and storm and pain and fear.
Everlasting light.
*
at the age I am,
treasures change from those of youth.
Closer and smaller.
*
It may not look like
much from there but, from this view,
it is a fortune.
*
When you wish upon
a star, don't be blind to what
might already be.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Words...
Witholding words and, thus, myself.
No trust enough to tell all to anyone.
No one anywhere who can coddle and absorb and still
remain the same, loving, after knowing all that is.
Indeed, myself as most do, parse words carefully, even
in our own hearts.
Some words are painted glossy to look better than they are.
Some are weighted so as to never surface, certainly not
in daylight for others, and often not either known in our
own nights.
Sometimes tripping over the shadows (there are always
shadows since nothing true disappears completely), the
bolt of pain in the stubbed toe flashing a memory of self
back to surface. A moment only long enough to frantically
push it back into the basement and slam the door closed again.
Looking behind self, fearful that someone might have noticed,
might have recognized an unadmitted truth.
Then walked away. Ashamed for knowing.
But, no. No one else.
I keep myself alone enough to pick and choose, pick and choose
carefully, what words will be dressed for dinner.
Offered on a gilt-edge platter. Will be only my best at any table shared.
Why do we fluster so about how to know others while we fail
to know ourselves?
Words not spoken may reveal more truth than those brandished
in the open.
Not at all what you would think.
If you saw.
If you knew.
No trust enough to tell all to anyone.
No one anywhere who can coddle and absorb and still
remain the same, loving, after knowing all that is.
Indeed, myself as most do, parse words carefully, even
in our own hearts.
Some words are painted glossy to look better than they are.
Some are weighted so as to never surface, certainly not
in daylight for others, and often not either known in our
own nights.
Sometimes tripping over the shadows (there are always
shadows since nothing true disappears completely), the
bolt of pain in the stubbed toe flashing a memory of self
back to surface. A moment only long enough to frantically
push it back into the basement and slam the door closed again.
Looking behind self, fearful that someone might have noticed,
might have recognized an unadmitted truth.
Then walked away. Ashamed for knowing.
But, no. No one else.
I keep myself alone enough to pick and choose, pick and choose
carefully, what words will be dressed for dinner.
Offered on a gilt-edge platter. Will be only my best at any table shared.
Why do we fluster so about how to know others while we fail
to know ourselves?
Words not spoken may reveal more truth than those brandished
in the open.
Not at all what you would think.
If you saw.
If you knew.
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