Saturday, October 13, 2007

Classroom

And rings the bell again
Like trained animals
We crowd into the class
Reluctantly the seconds pass
After the teacher-student chasmal
Out come notebooks and pens

Echoing voices lull me to sleep
With open eyes and I wonder
The stories the blackboard could hold
Too insignificant to be told
Swipe the white asunder
Erased lessons in a chalky heap

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Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry

National Geographic POD