Feng Shui of the Written Word

Well past midnight I close my eyes,
     and old terrors come to call,
An angel whispers in my ear
     as it flies past on ancient wings,
A melody echoes in my heart,
     or drops of dew fall from my hair
          splashing me with inspiration:
          a single word, a turn of phrase,
          some piece of spirit that calls out to be heard.

The words fit nicely
     into notches in my imagination
          where meaning lays itself bare.
I search with a musician’s ear
     for the one and only word
          that fits there,
The feng shui of the written word.

Years ago
poems spilled out
full of hormones and angst,
suffering and loss,
but now they move slowly,
they kick back and yawn their way out.
They laze in the back of my mind,
in an imaginary hammock
among tall pines in blue shaded mountains
and enjoy themselves,
each poem like contented, well kissed lips
     like warm chocolate covered cherries
          just waiting to be savored.

© 2007 C. Harter Amos

Reviews

[Bubo]

I love the way you have written this
the way we think about word s and writing,
all the emotions we use and draw on................and yes, as time
passes we grow as writers maybe because we are wiser and have
experienced more, and I love the imagary you created here

They laze in the back of my mind,
in an imaginary hammock
among tall pines in blue shaded mountains
and enjoy themselves,
each poem like contented, well kissed lips

Wonderful.............and yes, we read our words sometimes
and it brings so much satisfaction that we created it!

[Lydia Breakfast]

I particularly enjoyed the truth of these words:
Years ago
poems spilled out
full of hormones and angst,
suffering and loss,
but now they move slowly,
they kick back and yawn their way out.
They laze in the back of my mind,
in an imaginary hammock
I remember the days of holding court with angst and emotions spilling out. Now, it seems you've captured perfectly how age and experience makes a coy bedfellow, one that has to be cajoled to get the words to come, yet when they do fit so aptly into lines that almost arrange themselves. Well done.

[Rodney Ray Hatchell / U..]

I think in the wee hours of the morning if we are awake we all find lost memories to come to haunt us. Very well done ,,and thank you for the review , GBU, RodneyRay

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I love this. I hope you don't mind if I feature it in our group tomorrow. It is simply delightful!

[Gandré]

Well past midnight I close my eyes,
and old terrors come to call,
An angel whispers in my ear
as it flies past on ancient wings,
A melody echoes in my heart,
or drops of dew fall from my hair
splashing me with inspiration:
a single word, a turn of phrase,
some piece of spirit that calls out to be heard. ---------I enjoy how you describing your dream. It is written with ease and I can I like the melody of your words...
The words fit nicely
into notches in my imagination
where meaning lays itself bare.
I search with a musician's ear
for the one and only word
that fits there,
The feng shui of the written word. ---------------Here you say close to readers about your mind, searching for words: it seemed to explode like a star which everyone looks at, every night.

Years ago
poems spilled out
full of hormones and angst,
suffering and loss,
but now they move slowly,
they kick back and yawn their way out.
They laze in the back of my mind,
in an imaginary hammock
among tall pines in blue shaded mountains
and enjoy themselves,
each poem like contented, well kissed lips
like warm chocolate covered cherries
just waiting to be savored. -----------this is sweet! spreading across your night, setting fire to general memory by calling the past to cross its fearful states of mind, one had sorrows, here saying, your lines that time were drawn differently fearful; and now your dreams ergo poems became soothing, balanced - like a personality is always becoming in later age.

I enjoyed your cute poem. thanks for posting it!

[Ebby]

I am learning to slow down, and at last I am gaining pleasure from it. So much is missed in haste.
In youth we make love too fast, with an urgency and greediness. For me, writing is a little like this. The deeper pleasure comes from love, not lust.
I am fasting from both, no sex, no writing, and it feels like a huge relief.
I am waiting now, sleeping and watching.
Your poem conveys such a strong sense of place, I can smell the pine trees, and feel the soft breeze rolling off the mountainside.

We must be selfish with our writing, we must, for it is all we have sometimes.

This part, Mimi, this part is wonderful:

I search with a musician's ear
for the one and only word
that fits there,
The feng shui of the written word.

I am glad to be reading you again.
Kindest regards.

[the ghost of pauls]

You have such a wonderful relaxed voice and immaculate technique and artisanship behind that voice. All of your work is a pleasure to read.

[T. L. O'Neal]

I liked this and can relate to the changes of creating art as one gets older and life in general. Enjoyable read. T