"This Thing Called A "
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I read and listen close to Kahlil Gibran's spirit, through his dying words! I have 2 of his poetry books, one of his life! and other poets, to feel their closeness, helps us to understand the universe even clearer!

The mind and heart of Poet! Where it all began... The ancient poet spoke with depth! I still love and need! to stay inspired.

Thank you Bell, for this series you will be beginning! Our hearts are more enriched with your style of sharing!

Peace, Blessing and Hugs!
SHEE

7/31/2008 5:57:30 AM [ Report Abuse ]

The life of a poet is quiet short compared with the Universe's age, but his or her poetry were read aloud, that sound will travel forever long after the Universe we know is a back to be a black void.

Georg

7/27/2008 1:44:45 AM [ Report Abuse ]

A life without poetry... a garden with no flowers, an orchard with no fruits... a very boring "incompleteness"! And here's a tribute to the Poets, and to you, my dear friend, who, better than most, understand... the

"Poet's Things:

fire can be green and see, and burn like eyes.

horses can be blue and the sky a meadow
in black and white, with scarlet dreams in evidence
looking like poppies that grow yellow wings
all of a sudden and lure a sun into a moon
beginning in sepia within clouds as pulpous as oranges.

skin can have tides and the sea legs wrapped around the sand’s hips
with boats beached by kisses setting upon breasts, because the wind
can have a mouth and seaweed be fingers playing preludes
for orgasm and seagulls upon sexes of foam.

and a guitar can be the muse on the floor with
the poet in concert, inside. Then, the poem can be
a whole shedding of accords in shades of warm flesh.
A page that is eaten and yet explodes in more and more cherry trees
until it looms by the window of very ripe souls;
through which a fire as green as eyes can be seen
burning into eyes as blue as horses set free.

it is one more book being invented, created
from absurdities which are all but scientific, yet
a perfect book of precise breath with no proof
but in colour proofs where truth is colour-blind
and the air is the sensitive absolute.

you don’t understand? ask the poet; and he will
paint you, yes, butterflies with letters in intelligible flight
and grey roses, hued of rain, under a rain that, of rose-pink,
can, unexpectedly, flood everything
in time for the epilogue."

-- © 2006/2008 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®

7/26/2008 5:51:36 PM [ Report Abuse ]

Poetry ... from the first breath of life, we speak our heart. The form may change, but the heart remains the same. Wonderful, Belle, thank you.

7/26/2008 12:04:42 PM [ Report Abuse ]

Ah, to explore the soul of the poet... One of life's great adventures.

7/26/2008 7:11:34 AM [ Report Abuse ]

Belle, yes, Poetry has been written since the beginning of mankind. Every time I costume design a Shakespeare play, I am amazed at the depth and magnitude that he wrote so many years ago. I just got done doing Hamlet and in that play we carry with us till this day, so many phrases and sayings from that play.
To thine own self be true, Sweets for the Sweet, To be or not to be, this list goes on and on...It is immortalization of the written word.
Sorry to go on, but your blog really hit me this morning..
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"

7/26/2008 4:38:55 AM [ Report Abuse ]