»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #22
»
A Poets Space
| Open Poetry #22 |
|
A Poets Space |
|
|
D.Lester Young Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1219Austin, Tx |
(In the intensity of "A Poets Space" it may not be a poem but may read like one. I am not sure! ) In a space, a poet sees so much that they may want to reflex on. The space contains the seed that is in need of germination within the mind of the fertile poet. They had the necessary tools to bring out the image within a thought, in a beautiful arrangement. In a terrain so rough that its beauty magnifies the essence of the words, the enrichment begins. So out of stone so dense that it sparkles within your special eyes it sets off a firestorm brewing inside the moisture of a crack. In a spreading determination it struggles, grasping on. Nurtured with words of creative support, the image grows out of its infancy into the vegetation seeking its spontaneous combustion. In leaves now glowing with pride, it reaches for the heavens magnetic powers. Spreading beyond belief, the sprout has now spread into a bush of angelic colors. In a breeze that caresses perfection, the aroused stimulation inspires it on. In the storms that electrify an existence, it steals the thunder shining upon its light, bristling in its own voice. In ever changing movement it cries for more, never ever satisfied to stay still. You have been its mentor and it has grown out of your shoes. In a new role as coach and teacher, you teach it to seek its natural course. You never tell it, in what direction to flourish in, but motivate it to seek the footing needed to climb the sky. In surreal words it almost has the independence to drive on its own. Well the bush has a trunk now, barking for more needed fertilizer. Others now can picture its growth in swaying winds. In its revival of its conception, it blossomed in phenomenal plumage within such grandiose style, much like a date on her prom night. That it sent the stars exploding in delight in a billion diamond shimmers. Well the poet’s job will never be done, for they must transplant into others the visions to share in their creative thoughts, in independent analysis seeking to look in between the words. For in the readers ever changing mind unfolding the words before them, you must lay down their mind in a gentle seduction. In the magic of these words a person will reflect on them and come to an astronomical conclusion. They will be satisfied that their interpretation was the right one, in genuflection they will come back realizing this beauty changed with the tide of changing minds. Thought: It is a poet’s dream that they someday say something so special that the memory is passed on beyond them to another generation’s delight. This is a tribute to all those poets that shared the faith in me, helping me find my own words of joy in my own special way. I bow my head in respect to all of you and your immense talents. D.Lester Young 9/10/2002 Tuscaloosa, AL Copyright © D.Lester Young (White Eagle poetry) |
||
| © Copyright 2002 David Lester Young - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
the_loner_23 Member Ascendant
since 2002-06-08
Posts 5479Jacksonville, Florida, USA |
Beautifully written Cold hands means a warm heart |
||
|
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
In its form of prosy, I found a simple delightful thought woven throughout this piece...how fortunate we are not to be a voice of just one...but a united front of intelligence, feelings, and deep convictions. Well done! |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
