Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Poetry Is In The Moment:

In the mindless foolish transition,
I lost my words in searching too deep,
Looking for mountains of meaning to pour out,
Hoping for some grand place in the heavens,
Forgetting the simplest of things,
When my eyes are opened and I see a small space,
The dusty trails I walked between cornfields,
The footpath along the railroad tracks in early 1960's sunshine,
The insects and prairie flowers of Wisconsin Summers,
The goldenrod and oriole and wild child hair,
Deep in rural Nebraska,
The stark contrast of dark night skies in the desert,
The deep blue of a rare New Mexico lake,
The salt tang of a midnight beach in Galveston,
Poetry is in the moment,
In the small places you live and see and breathe,
Those slices of life too precious to forget,
And all the moral ground and beliefs,
Wishes for the future and hopes and dreams and fears,
Nothing is exempt,
No single piece is all there can be,
Because poetry is life,
In the words you can find to capture it.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/08/2004

Author's Comments:
Sometimes I forget and my voice falls silent in a false lack of words.