To my Iranian friend who asks what if there are no poets left in the Spring [VERSION 3.2]
~~for [m......]
Poetry is an unstoppable force, you know ~~ like a wave cannot be stopped … two waves break together, three waves work it out ~~ water is still water, wave still wave, and words like a million menhaden wash up on the sand in one undulating silver ribbon in the night.
Some twenty years ago i saw this once with a baby in my arms ~~ we wondered if the moon itself had fallen, fractured into glitter on the beach…and in that mind all one together, menhaden etched the sand, forgot the foam, desired only for one wave to come and cover them and not the odd discomfort of this land–languished for the sea long memorized by moon, this body of fish trembled one eye up,
gazed upon their moon’s detachment,
and thus enthralled, she taught the tides to turn by simple repetition.
*love* and apologies to my own…
poetry cannot stop :: it seeks a heart to call a home ::…
HONOR THE VOICE ON THE WIND OF NADA AGA-SOLTAN
see the blog EPHEMERA
(c) Etta B Dickerson 2009
[[oOps see REVision 3.2 'mere' removed]]
NOTE: The previous version, below, is now replaced by [REVision 3.1] above.
For now, i leave the previous version posted, to be one more in a series of open process poems..thank you for following. ~etta
To my Iranian friend who asks what if there are no poets left in the Spring
~~for [m......]
Poetry is an unstoppable force, you know ~~ like a wave cannot be stopped … two waves break together, three waves work it out ~~ water is still water, wave still wave, and words like a million menhaden wash up on the sand in one undulating silver ribbon in the night.
Some twenty years ago i saw this once with a baby in my arms ~~ we wondered if the moon itself had fallen, fractured into glitter on the beach…and in that mind all one together, mere menhaden etched the sand, forgot the foam, desired only for one wave to come and cover them and not the land–languished for the sea long memorized by moon, this body of fish trembled one eye up,
gazed upon this mother moon so busy with her tides to tune.
*love*
~~and apologies to my own~~
poetry cannot stop :: it seeks a heart to call a home ::…
HONOR THE VOICE ON THE BREEZE OF NADA AGA-SOLTAN
~FAIR USE~ unknown photographer; early reports were that this photo came from a close friend, spring 2009.
