-- What is a Poem?

John Herlihy

A door flung open by an unseen hand,

A gentle shove feeling as a reprimand.

A leaf overturned for closer inspection,

A butterfly wing that inspires reflection.

A melody of rhythms sounding as chimes,

Noble gesture of good intent that rhymes.

My feathered quill dipped in ocean’s ink,

Limitless surge from depths to the brink.

Seeing the moon, one becomes the moon,

Drawing stars down into some inner room.

Echoes stirring memories of life at the core,

Ocean’s ink as waves to break on the shore.

These verses will continue to give off scent,

In ancient trees, virgin fields, the firmament.

The letters settle in vellum, a wish to remain,

If you call the poet, I will only deny my name.

The verse feels as humming wings on my lips,

The honeyed nectar of the Muse taken in sips.

Resurrect a forgotten sensation, fear, disgust,

To abandon an old habit, chronic lying, or lust.

Not one truth, one love, one enemy, one friend,

Nothing ever so simple from beginning to end.

Hear the souls of the readers reading, seeking,

Or just the sound of wind thru willows weeping.

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(c) John Herlihy 28 July 2020