Saturday 25 September 2010

Poetry Break: Coatney,Velveteen Rabbi,Welch,Keys


You push me away
and reach for the bottle.

Once in Scotland I parted
spongy turf with my fingers

and water welled up like sorrow
its source unknown.

In my childhood playhouse
the table was always set

for guests who never came.
Already my body is shrinking.

You settle like a little king
into the crook of my arm

one hand seizing
the plush belt of my bathrobe

the other splayed
across the warm cylinder.

Your lashes drift down
and your restless legs still

exactly as they did
when I was everything. Velveteen Rabbi

A Million Thoughts

When a million thoughts

go through your mind,

catch them like butterflies,

so the thinking goes,

bringing every thought captive.

What about those thoughts that

aren’t butterflies though?

Ah ha, to make them into such

takes magic we don’t have

but think we should,

if not to the end of what a soul is,

that butterfly catching and making

is not the doing of us doers,

but the being of the is-er.

This is-er, we find, doesn’t even

catch or take a thought, much less

a million , and morph them

into butterflies, or ask us to.

But in the mystery of the new mind,

not I but Christ, and His

silky, linen effortless way,

powdered wings float everywhere.

This might be in the midst of

all that is excruciating,

but simple it is, and sweet.

And there is where we meet.

Brian Coatney/9-26-10

Whimsical Muses or Musical Whimsies by Chris Welch 25/09/10

It's not the thought that thinks.

It's not the window that views.

It's not the spire that inspires.

It's not the wind that winds ... a clock

It's not the pterodactyl that pterorises

It's not the alone who are lonely

It's not the sandwich that is sandwiched...

It's not the moon that is a crescent

It's not the crescent that is a cul de sac

It's not the dead end that is the end

It's Life that is the end

after the dead end

has died.

Other Poems so far......
Bryan Coatney


Chris Welch
Supposing I jumped in with both feet

New Privacy Settings

Martha Keys
Seeds of war and Seeds of peace
At the bottom of this post

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