Michelle Claus

My Poetry Is Pedestrian

My poetry walks barefoot along the winding unpaved road
where beautiful people peddle smiles
that tell a story older than language.
Where sundry patches of fabric
are stitched together
to clothe an entire tribe.
Where doorways lined
with woven tapestries
beckon my poetry.
It lingers on
a warp and weft,

then wanders through the market,
smelling the pungency of mongers' fish
and sweetness of clay-warmed bread.
Throughout this braid of wares
merchants hone
their beaded twine
and painted stone.
If it could,
my poetry would trade cadence for incense;
the scent intoxicates its rhyme,
rendering it artisan.
Currency jingles through this bazaar
of humanity,
this thread as versed as time.

© 2014 All rights reserved

Submitted: Thursday, June 05, 2014

Topic of this poem: folklore

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