My quest for the 'extended metaphor' is flowing 
into the daily beat of my typical day. 

Something of my day is breathing out meaning and song - 
expressing and teaching me with whispers that can blare so loudly 
that their silence flashes blindingly with a brilliance that shadows 
the darkness and illumines the gentle curves of Truth. 

My quest takes me on a journey where I can no longer lay back and watch the rising and setting of the sun, the moon, and yes, even the stars that crown a head filled with dreams and thoughts in that sable field that is beyond and within us.... 

Something of this day shall imprint itself in my soul and yell out invectives.... grabbing my shoulders and throttling my awareness. 

My quest requires that I take on my gear and trek the unknown twists and turns, of unchartered horizons, and risk the possible heartache.... 
it compels me to be the sun, the moon, and yes, even the stars - traversing the vast expanse of universal experience.... 

Something in this day shall filter into my nights nagging and wailing, crooning and serenading - lifting my spirits with its rise and ebb.... and as I float on midnight blues and obsidian hues, I sense one thought forming: 

My quest is yours, and the universality of human experience shall meld our separate yet mirrored conditions into a unified expression of what we vainly and clumsily perceive and call 'love'.


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Poetry is art
      Poetry is visual

Poets can see the words

The way a play write
Can see the actors on stage
       with every line he writes

The way a musician
Can see the notes dance on air
       with every key she plays

The way a sculptor
Can see the final sculpture
       with every cut of their knife

The way a painter
Can see the waves of the ocean
        with every stroke of blue
                  on a blank canvas

Poetry is visual
      Poetry is art
            Poets are artists
       They write **from the heart

How do you do?
I am here for you.

Simple for me to say,
I am a container of dismay

After Thursday.

What is good poetry,
what is a good poet,
(s)he is a teller of stories in verse,
s(he) makes music out of sounds,
(s)he explores tension and boundaries,
s(he) undresses your sensibilities,
(s)he has a heart tapped into broken vessels,
s(he) can cry while in the midst of a write,
(s)he writes poetry for others, almost always from the self
s(he) can write love with a thousand different metaphors,
           but chooses not so to do.
(s)he loves language, maybe more than self, has as many
      books as dust on the shelf.
s(he) is a quiet observer, with no remorse for putting into
          words what the sky says to the child, what the man
          hears from the Earth, what a woman knows about
           birth and the pains of life as well, that no man would
          survive and too the wisdom found as one walks along
          the garden path.
(s)he knows that poetry is readily available, simply by being
     vulnerable and sometimes obtuse.