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poem. 6 march 2020
a man pulls a pair of shoes out of the rubbish bin and tries them on. they are too small but he wears them anyway.
a man pulls a pair of shoes out of the rubbish bin and tries them on. they are too small but he wears them anyway.
man asleep on sidewalk lit cigarette between fingers fallen ash jacket on fire scents of burning hair and plastic
robert frost said it best: “Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.”
for me, poetry is about slowing down and seeing what is going on around you; of observing the impact of actions; of feeling the rawness of our lives.
the keen edges of john berryman’s words as he captures the egoless struggles of life. robert frost’s aching grasp of life lived honestly. william carlos williams’s frank observations of living. samuel beckett’s poetic minimalism sends me over the treetops. they, and many more not mentioned here, are all great teachers and friends.
i think of poetry more often than not. while i stopped at a corner of a blossom-covered street, i spied two young sparrows ripping leaves off a small plant. at a downtown square, a child chased pigeons into traffic where two were killed by cars. a woman walked down the street while talking on a cell phone erupted in laughter. i thought about the woman my grandmother used to be before alzheimer’s altered her brain. this is all poetry.
#dharma #poetry #johnberryman #robertfrost #williamcarloswilliams #daishinstephenson
caw of gulls from my twenty-one story aerie, i hear them from your ten story aerie, you hear them a continent and ocean between us caw of gulls; different, yet the same