Poetry is everywhere.
Poetry is color,
it is a knowing glance,
an admiring gaze,
a pair of tear-filled eyes.
Poetry is the slow ascending of tension and a wooden thrill ride
on the stickiest day of the year.
It is the surprised cry of a toothless child
when she discovers her laughing mother
for the umpteenth time
as she plays an infinite game of peek-a-boo.
Poetry is what we see
hear
and experience
conceived, spat out, wrapped up
onto a folded piece
of notebook paper...
handed to a friend;
the gift of a new perspective.
Poetry is everywhere.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
Poetry is everywhere.
Poetry is color,
it is a knowing glance,
an admiring gaze,
a pair of tear-filled eyes.
Poetry is the slow ascending of tension and a wooden thrill ride
on the stickiest day of the year.
It is the surprised cry of a toothless child
when she discovers her laughing mother
for the umpteenth time
as she plays an infinite game of peek-a-boo.
Poetry is what we see
hear
and experience
conceived, spat out, wrapped up
onto a folded piece
of notebook paper...
handed to a friend;
the gift of a new perspective.
Poetry is everywhere.