adventures of a wooden indian

for the Pagemasters challenge # 8

remember.

fingers of lightning

cracked the rain open

that day, half asleep

my map blurred, the rainbow

eluded me. In that moment

I already existed. all of us

are agents, you can't stop love.

the ink dried on the pages

before I could save any more ideas.

 

believe.

the man selling words

smiled and sold out last week.

he is mute by choice

still sits in his booth

shakes hands with people

who give him money

they appreciate

his candor.

 

honor.

we could be a myth of children

come to gaze in honest eyes

an arc of pleasure

moving between hearts

where silence of the mind

and the presence of reverence

bears a beauty

beyond human description.

Reviews

[Gandré]

how comes - I didn'T see this before? Wonderful imaginery, I love the semi-melancholic tune of this poem. And so the Indian will be, he won't disappear of human race the dewy verdant of Earth smells fresh and sweet, flesh and blood sure one day would their stupor shake. I loved this so much:
"shakes hands with people

who give him money

they appreciate

his candor.



honor.

we could be a myth of children

come to gaze in honest eyes

an arc of pleasure

moving between hearts" ------------this tells me about inequities of life how to shift heavyweight of history to sensitive eyes. wonderful!

[Jessica M.]

"remember.
fingers of lightning...
believe.
the man selling words...
honor...
a myth of children"
very poetic,
nice imagery and metaphor
i admire.