Monday, February 8, 2016
I Am The Parent Of Poetry
Noon knows your mood,
Shall I replay the movie?
Nothing blames the friend
Who connives behind the back.
Nobody looks at you,
Nothing can demonstrate the love
Of a parent for his or her child
Who is bedevilled, shaken,
Licked, and dined, so that
Duty is a contaminant.
Not one idea leaves the page,
It punches for a moment,
It shakes me towards a gesture
So blessed and divine.
This is the poetry of a traveller,
My soul lies within the walls of these
I know my mood better than rainbows,
It sells a large swath of heaven
To my soul that lingers in danger of dying.
I leave this art of green landscapes,
I leave the feet of the poem so near.
Topic(s) of this poem: parenthood,poetry