Cliché

 

Poetry is the quiet moments in the day

That collate the confusion and discord,

A symphony amid tree tops, plucking

Plectrum beaks harping cooling beams.

 

A quiet chin to aching forehead.

Fortification of love in ones heart,

Watering dry springs withered in hurt

A shoulder to turn an ear to, tear to.

 

Poetry is a personal affirmation, strength

 In weakness and light in darkness as pitch

As coal in a dark mine of helplessness,

Searching for things sometimes unknown.

 

A cliché

 

Poetry is a kindness to self when no one else understands a personal moment,

Opening gently cupped hands and setting free shimmering sparkles of sweat,

Butterfly wing dusts,

silent chants to distant stars dangling silver coins spinning fairy prints though   

the air like hearts so lost listening for an echo, in midnight gardens twilights.

 

Not quite tangible, not quite spectres, not quite a dream nor a woken voice.

But the gap beneath the door where passer bys shadow against the floor,

And the motion resonates beneath tender feet, in time with beat in time to

Wrist weaves to neck swaying to candles flicker and distant lone dogs bay

Reviews

[zig]

oh, this is cool! love the way this is written, love the change in format half way through, it really picks up speed and intensity. the imagery is great, the movement is percise and justified. great poem here, i would say this one is a keeper. i did notice a few typos (typos, the death of me!) you might to proof read one more time. again, enjoyed very much. zig

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

Very nice soft words that flow smoothly.

[zig]

im sorry, i should pointed out what i saw... how silly of me

"distant stars dangling silver coins spinning fairy prints though" did you mean through, or even thru?

"But the gap beneath the door where passer bys " im not sure , but i would have written it as passers by. i would check that with someone else. those are the typos i saw. sorry i didnt point them out before

[Nan]

This is gorgeous Di, I love the celebration of nature and poetry as another way
she creates, so the metaphor is just right for my taste.

A friend just reminded me that so many search the light for answers
and it's the mystery, the darkness that contains them.

Having said this, I believe your theme is revealed in a truly artistic way.

Not quite tangible, not quite spectres, not quite a dream nor a woken voice.
But the gap beneath the door where passer bys shadow against the floor,
And the motion resonates beneath tender feet, in time with beat in time to
Wrist weaves to neck swaying to candles flicker and distant lone dogs bay

Poetry really is how a mortal voice finds meaning in a seemingly insane world.

Love it,

Nan

[jmt8921]

I loveded it. Everyone needs someone to turn to, and writing a poem often makes us feel just as good as confiding in someone about what hurts us, because it's like your speaking to the world, but it's more than just the words. Or something like that.

[The Poor Man's Poet]

I always like reading poetry is poems,
people paint nice visuals and take you places
you never think you can go.
this is a good write.

[Emily B]

I was just tip-toeing by and I couldn't help but overhear. Poetry is.

I very often find sparkles and fairy prints and other gossamer beauties in your words. The words where Poetry is. . .