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Poetry
Considering the Poem as a Mystical Body
From eyes and ears,
what the senses bring in
that mingles with what
rises out of the bones
that marrow-deep entity
who slumbers unknown
until just the right moment
From whatever magic
it is that sparks
behind light’s portals and
between those little pirouettes
that listen and hear,
the poem awakens
in a sudden flush flood
of awareness, a demanding
beast insistent as a bell
but delicate as a lacewing
against the porch light
of reality
From feet that hurry
to fetch a pencil and
the fingertips that can
barely keep up,
from the whisper of
an unspoken indescribable
dream: the words form,
breathe,
live,
dance
This poem was inspired by a line from the intro of Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook. Over on my website, I’ve expounded on the book as well as expressed some of my own creative dilemmas and angst. Head over there if you’d like to take a look. . . Thank you for reading!
