“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label bid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bid. Show all posts
Sunday, March 31, 2019
soft-ness
It was not evident
at first
how special it was
to Be
good.
I said soft
and meant
landing.
The cats saw
around me
and fixated themselves
under each of my most careful
footfalls,
short of floating
they weave comfortably
vibrating.
The hummingbird
held himself back
from resting
atop my crown,
settling instead
for a golden thread,
with a tip
of nectar.
I reached inside
my treasure box
and felt
enjoyment
in my collection
and it was greater
than my own
goodness gracious
to hold on to softly.
Photo credited by Francisco EnrĂquez, 2001 [Public domain].
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Gravitas
For every poem I put here, there are four more never shared, around six never written and twenty-seven partially thought out. For every word...

-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Someone said, the full moon looks larger in the city because of skyscrapers- which said nothing about people feeling smaller, more co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...