My poems write themselves Their origins unknown My fingers scheming elves With ideas of their own And what they have to say Seems up to them alone
I feel them trace their way In patterns on the page At midnight and noonday Plying their pilgrimage Both whimsical and stern Doing their daily rounds
And night by day I learn To touch becomes to see How life outside the bounds Of ordinary things Is fanciful and free How an opened heart brings What once was closed to be As an opened heart sings Through life to light through me
Yes Stevie~
YOu set a life a FREE soon as your fingers begin! Your mind starts and the rest is history lol- and what a history to read too! Nover let your hands/fingers stay idle to long, they say. Idle hands are the devils plaything! Ahhhhh... A Reason 4 Everything~ Love and HuGs!*She*oxo
That is a beautiful thought. I don't believe your fingers have a brain. You supply that, so I do not believe you give yourself enough credit. You may say it was God who wrote through you but you had to make yourself available or he would not press. So, you see. You are a poet and you have more depth than you give yourself credit for.
God Bless,
Lew
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
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that your poems do get to you,through you then to us.
Thank you.
Regis
Love Tinka
YOu set a life a FREE soon as your fingers begin! Your mind starts and the rest is history lol- and what a history to read too! Nover let your hands/fingers stay idle to long, they say. Idle hands are the devils plaything! Ahhhhh... A Reason 4 Everything~ Love and HuGs!*She*oxo
God Bless,
Lew
Sandie May Angel a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)
Fee