To All Writers, Limber Poetry

To All Writers, Limber Poetry

A Private Moment

As I reclined, writing the whispers of the universe, I looked over the water which rolled and knelled gently against the rocks.  At once, a tiny fish emerged from the waters in a leap.  So spectacularly instantaneous and private was the moment the fish hung on this side of the world that I gasped, realizing that I was the only human on Earth that could have seen it.  I was grateful, and soaked by the energy. 

The impulse drives you to the reason.

La Folie de Grandeur, Limber Poetry

La Folie de Grandeur, Limber Poetry

The Dying Roots of The American Dream, Limber Poetry

Dying Roots of the American Dream, Limber Poetry

The Vein

What I hope, when I hope, is that we will again reach the Vein, that smooth structure of flow connecting heart to head powering the mind-- that ghost in the machine-- within it.  To do it, so much must be trusted, bought on margin, with so much beautiful beautiful risk.  Perhaps all of human history has been shaped by the risk: someone embracing it or attempting to cage it.  It exists. It exists.

And it is worth the risk to prove that it does.  Falling in love with anyone with anything poses such a grave risk and yet we do it daily. And what rewards are reaped from it, lifelong and precious as an heirloom.  How much more then could be won should we all as one embark on the wildly imperfect, harrowingly difficult journey to the Vein, as impossible as the journey to the moon once must have seemed?

The potential of the present

Realize the masterpieces you hope to create are found between your fists and your fingertips.

The magic is in sweet unsuccess. The mumbling and movement around a coffee shop

yield the perfect poetry of the present. When we walk in the current, we run into fondness for life, and over the preoccupations of living.

We appreciate sunlight both by lying in it and by missing it:

Summer and Winter, high tide and low tide

Inhale, exhale.

Let the night be won by loons and swooning.  Let us look to nature and to ourselves

with belief as wide as a child’s, so that we can close our fists around our potential

And open our hands to beauty.

"We have an odd relationship with words. We learn a few when we are small, throughout our lives we collect others through education, conversation, our contact with books, and yet, in comparison, there are only a tiny number about whose meaning, sense, and denotation we would have absolutely no doubts about if, one day, we were to ask ourselves seriously what they meant. Thus we affirm and deny, thus we convince and are convinced, thus we argue, deduce, and conclude, wandering fearlessly over the surface of concepts about which we have only the vaguest of ideas, and, despite the false air of confidence that we generally affect as we feel our way along the road in the verbal darkness, we manage, more or less, to understand each other and even, sometimes, to find each other."

 - jose saramago