What it’s really about is
each of our own magic
spheres of personal space
and the ghosts that orbit
around inside of them.
Some of us are cloaked
in a bath of invisible
angels and crackling
flashes of spirit-sent
power and purpose.
Some are infiltrated
by the Earth, the breath
and the dirt, the heart
beating it’s music out
since the beginning, unknown.
May the winner be brave!
When the ghosts learn
they can breed outside
the spheres, they become opaque
with pride, and our eyes darken.
I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.
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Blog Archive
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2006
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March
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- Safe from the Storm
- On Learning of the Evolution/Creationism Debate Ta...
- The Hawk
- Bad Tea
- Sexual Frustration
- Inspiration
- Apology to My Daughter
- Fragile
- Hunger
- Leaving the Woods Behind
- Coming Down (As requested by Aurora)
- This is not a poem (2)
- Evidence
- The Cello Player
- Turning Point
- Elegy for the Dragon
- A Mystery
- Aging
- Packing for the Hike
- Vigilance
- Seven Cups of Pu-erh, Gong Fu Style
- Defending
- Marketing Death
- A Father Reads the Parenting Websites
- Breakfast
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March
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3 comments:
I sense a truth here which no debate can ever touch.
Wonderful! I love the idea that we can't agree because we each want to keep our own idea of magic.
Thanks for all your help in starting mine. You're right; this is fun! I plan to visit yours often as well, and catch up on your archives.
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