Ohbard and Pell meet up
over lifetimes and dimensions
for exchanges and conversations:
and like a daytime meteor
out of a midday blue sky
Pell's words cut through the hour
- How do I know if I am a poet?
Ohbard released his eyes
from the depths around him
If you can climb inside
the gentle fluttering of the trees
and feel their fingers
brush your evening cheek
without moving from your seat
if shades of olives,
rustings and soot
grace your inner canvas
with crocheted landscapes
with turtle shell mirth
if the distant chirping
of sweet invisible singers
serenade your springtime ears
they're taking you galaxies
and planets from home
and if you can while away
the wholeness of day
just looking and sitting
within your self
then my friend
you are truly a poet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem