Playing Catch Up
Monks,
with their one hand clapping
and gong-like silence
witty as hail storms
on Spring mornings
sit,
open minded
like
a Gershwin
or a Ganges
flowing into
uncharted territory
waiting for the
rest of us
to catch up.
These poems are what arrive when I invite that "something deeper" to speak - that blessed madness that spins planets and curls toes. Feel free to share your thoughts on them. (...and thanks for all the great feedback. I don't always have time to comment back -- but know that I am most grateful!)
1 Comments:
Thank you. You are true to your name.
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