Poems change
He said poems change,
Seeds are planted
And the soil
smells real good.
A river runs bubbling,
smooth stones tumble
in a jumble, from
earth to heaven, from
heaven to earth down
tufts rise and sink
the sea is bright
and the moon is
brighter still in
this Siberian night.
He said smells and sounds
flowers birds and poems
consist in flavor, tints
and tones, ritmo,
blue is heaven, deep and
dull is the early winter sky.
Strong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds
To drink - enables Mine
Through Desert or the Wilderness
As bore it Sealed Wine -
To go elastic - Or as one
The Camel’s trait - attained -
How powerful the Stimulus
Of an Hermetic Mind -
–Emily Dickinson–
Providence?
I have ascertained the certain encouragement that (birdflow)
I have a few good (chock full) frinds & a loving family.
Blank trembling page
that dream I had this afternoon, that poem
under the water of sleep.
I have returned several times to the fact that while I am
not involved in exciting activity I am happiest writing.
(Counting sleeping and seeing to be exciting activities)
Today (and probably for a while) I have been losing
substantial references // historical, biographical –
I find myself expanded & lost but not afraid.
Almost walked into the Hare Krisnas yesterday–was that
ready to quit–today in sorting out my papers I
have more of a framework, especially in finding
my writings–I see that I thus can help
& encourage the me now. That possiblility had
not occured to me as I thought I was always
getting happier. (I had to go down to go up)
I have had a full look at the worst (touchign
it, not wanting to touch it again–but I might)
(I like the quality of this writing very much)
My mind works so unfathomably fast.