whrn the mind speaks

When the mind speaks

 

Poetry immensely personal I hide behind

storytelling not talking about my feelings

but the sensibility of others.

What happens have nothing to do with me the onlooker

the observer, like an architect surveying a building

and finding the house wrongly designed.

I don’t mind if the building has doors and windows

and are watertight I gladly move in, love is

another country as passion is an ember of an ancient fire.

You say I’m a liar who tells the truth using the passage

of time as my mentor.

“once upon a time there was cobbler…” there is not

a cobbler but someone else timeless as history

written by those who weren’t there.

My writing mundane I like a forest if they are not

so big I can’t find my way out

Sometimes it happens and breathes of death comes

into my mind upsetting the delicate balance

between life and no life.

I’m not an intellectual reading a book as a pensum

to an exam, there will be no trail of titles

when I have gone.

I like flowers, but dislike flowery poems I find them

artificial, as Gertrude Stein said,”

A rose is a rose.”

But of course, a rose signifies much more.

While not waiting for Godot, I will write some more lies

as long as I can.

◄ enigma

sunny days ►

Comments

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poemagraphic

Tue 17th Mar 2020 21:43

Please keep writing your lies Jan

Much truth hides behind the lies

Lies dissolve and die... The truth is Eternal!

Po

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