Wednesday, September 22, 2010

a hunger for words

I once read that we all have a hunger that is hard to name. After a bit of reflection I decided that for me, the hunger is words.

I hunger for the written word and have an overflowing bookcase to prove it. I cheerily walk right past the shoe shop and the bakery to enter my personal sense of heaven... a bookshop. I can spend hours browsing... and savouring... and admiring...  So many words flowing from so many beautiful minds. What a trip!  What a blessing!

The highway to my heart is poetry. Write me a moon poem and I'm yours...

Silent Night

under stars
you and i
full moon
waves lapping the shore
tropical breeze feels
delicious on the naked skin
yours and mine
all night to get to know you
the taste and smell
and sound of your pleasure
mingled with
night creatures
witnessing in wonder
our wonder
our meeting
our slow exploration
of one another
bodies
minds
tastes
sounds
smells
feel of skin on skin


join me

© 2010 Wingpoem

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

music of the soul

It is Voltaire who said that poetry is the music of the soul, and, above all, of great and feeling souls. I can not say much about the greatness of my soul as opposed to any other, but I can certainly say that I feel deeply and that words move me in a way that little else does. In fact, words are without a doubt the way to my heart.

The first time I ever read a poem of Pablo Neruda, I fell hopelessly in love with him. (I still am.) These are the words that sang to me:

you know how this is
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals, were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.


From If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda

Sad as it may be, I doubt that Pablo's little boats were ever headed my way. But I do wonder if there is someone else out there who could even contemplate such a thing... who would want to be carried my way on the little boats of the everything and the all... Someone who knows how long I have been waiting.
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