he was the poem eater
it wasnt that he found distastful
apples, cheese and bread
he occasionally swallowed those
in slices and pieces
poems satisfyed his hundered mile diet
A rambling buffet was a short skip to
The library
No moldy or rotting cores
Poems are easy to pick up, word by word,
And pop into his mouth,
Like rounding off an orange
Against it's grain
Poems make sense of his world
He did harvest, reap, or sew
Those lines were as random as a
Blue checkered table cloth
Rounding ones mind to the
Curve of a question
a good poem, Cheynee, with an original point of view.. Reading your lines, Italo Calvino's short stories came to my mind.. :) Do you know Calvino's Our Ancestors or Cosmicomics? if not, you should try them. Cheers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well conceived and wonderfully brought forth with conviction. A beautiful work of art...