
Poet
I lay down in soft meadows
counting the beats
of a hummingbird’s wings,
watching the clouds dance
to the song of spring robins
and distant thunder,
music that moves my
birth sign’s numbered soul.
Symphonies that a poet hears and knows…
I cry for falling leaves,
and smile at flowers
that yell at me in loud colors
as I tickle their heads,
walking through their random fields,
watching them bend and bow
in low breezes, until their smell
makes me sigh.
Poet’s tears born again and again to live and die.
Your pain hurts me like paper-cuts on baby- soft skin
Your joy sends me higher than you can reach or see
I open my mouth to say “Oh how I love it all “
and just let it take me,
until I lose the words,
my way, my reason.
A poet’s insane empathy for each emotional season.
When sensitive is not the word,
but flailing, falling,
freeing into feeling,
wild-eyed and open to Life
in it’s unjust beauty
its perfect cruelty,
its moaning patterns
of sweet compassion,
surprising on blind curves,
with death or love .
The poet’s flag of surrender, this vulnerable ascending dove.
My crystal skin can shatter and I bleed the words on paper…
My sobs fling themselves over the railing for a sunset’s flushing hue…
Oh! so far from the parlors
of recitals, tea and egos
where some wait for recognition
to impress and show they know it.
I stand apart ,
unknown,
just a madly blessed,
innately breathing poet.
Karima Hoisan
Feb.22, 2010
Finca La Generosa SL
*Dragging out some old ones in the new year:)