Saturday, October 13, 2007


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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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