not for others
do poets write,
their minds churning
for pithy words
so exact that mind-
meaning quavers with
delight.
no, poets search internal
engines for truth-
telling on their own
watch,
keeping themselves,
honest,
telling themselves,
to be exact.
assuring their own psyche
quietude,
so madness does not
steal their souls.
The songs and art in this book are about our collective emergence after the pandemic and trauma of the last few years - comprised of 5 collections: World as Refuge, Where We Live, In Our Hands, Rhythms of Change and What We See & Sow.
“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
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"so madness does not steal their souls"
Perfection!!
Love Tinka
exactly. :)
excellent, thought provoking write of the poet's dilemma--enjoyed thoroughly!
(((HUGS))) and love, karla. :)