I was thinking on how we don't treat one another with much respect -
Or at least not in my high school years & Then somehow blended the idea with our treatment of shells? ;-o
SHELLS
We find them on the shores
We find them by the forest stream & on the ocean floor.
Things of complex shape & unique design
Oh that of beauty rare...
Artistic they are – though lifeless they be
Evidence of that which is pasted away
Oh what a wondrous array...
All the shells that remain.
We find them on the corner
We find them in the shops & on the train
Things built with might & with grace
All a wonder to behold – of glory yet untold...
Intelligent life – Though living,
few have really known
Craftsmanship prepared for what poets dream of...
Though it be in shells we reside.
Consider these shells; all that they are,
There is more to them than appears
Their value exceeds that which is seen
It is what’s contained within
It must be believed in first
If it is to be (at all) understood (?)
It is already most worthy of our praise
Only it needs to be received by us - to come alive.
Again – it is just that which we see
That seems to be most real...
But even the simplest buildings
Have rooms, furnishing & a foundation
They are not merely brick walls
Also within these shells we all possess
It is how our contents are used or refused
That can turn life into living at all !!
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,