I do not dream poetry
my bones speak it
while I sleep
pipe sound
like a fugued whisper
murmuring through veins
quiet as blood
but more metered,
carried to where
words are shaped awake
before dreams snap closed
completely
and eyelids open
lips framing
the phrase over
and over
without glasses on
writing blind
before the image
melts in sunlight
I am loving your poems today
. Loving
Gosh, Boomie, thanks!
LOVE LOVE this
Audra–thank you SO much!
so that’s your solution? writing blind? well, it works!
love this.
LOL, either that or lose the poem!
Reblogged this on The Sand County and commented:
Ahh, she’s captured something here!
This is just superb. You have really grabbed something here (something ephemeral and delicate but puckish) and made it your own. I love this. You do justice to both poetry and dreams here, which is such a lovely and rare thing. This is one of my favorites.
Jeremy, thank you so much! I am just a pile of blushes now…
To quote the Canadian rock musician Kim Mitchell: “Damn! I wish I wrote this!”
Oh, my. We have something in common–I say that about your poetry–a lot!
Liking it muchly
Thanks, Ian
I really enjoyed this, thank you!
Thank you!
‘I do not dream poetry
my bones speak it
while I sleep
pipe sound
like a fugued whisper
murmuring through veins
quiet as blood
but more metered,
carried to where
words are shaped awake’
Words fail me, Susan.
Celestine–thank you.
“my bones speak it
while I sleep” – i love this bit. write write and write some more!
really really really wonderful Dear~ blessings Deb