Poem Left On A Desk
for A.
At the writing desk above the ocean’s waves,
a small wind-up piano box of music
begins to whirl and play
Its melody is simple and yet ,
has the power to pull
a tear from the eye.
There is only a chair for one,
there is only room for one more here
beneath the cloud-filled indigo sky.
There is a heart that creates ruins below on the floor.
plants shaded groves of tea and solitude
and the surf pounds at the doors.
Nostalgia is the name of the cold dark keys tonight,
the white ones beg in tune beneath the pale light,
if you build a fire too near a field of wheat,
the wind could come and catch a spark
one that has escaped the ending,
because it feels itself still burning.
If the wind blows ’round just right,
that spark might set a wheat-field
wild on fire in the night.
Karima Hoisan
Dec. 18th, 2010
Eilean SL
When I come across a ‘new’ poet I am always interested to see earlier work. Your talent was obvious years ago. I started writing poetry over thirty years ago and still love expression.
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Hello David, nice to meet you… and yes, you discovered one of my very first poem/videos:) I have made many more since then. Thank you for the encouragement. I started writing at 9 and my mother framed that poem…which still exists today..I am a long way from 9 now..but poetry is very much and always has been part of my life. Thank you again for leaving your comment…. Karima
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