We witness the world
rolling around the moon -
for there is no real sun
after all, only heat
to warm the pen,
watching not
the lifeguard saving
children, but the specks
of fragility teeming
in tidepools
stranded
after the surge.
In the crumbs
of the feast,
there is food
for thought. We spy,
noses pressed steaming
to the pane,
drinking the aroma,
ravenous,
though not quite hungry
enough to stretch
a pointed finger
to the bell.
I won't pretend to understand this in full or even in part, but I know what I like. I see a person noticing the more unusual things in life (moon for mystery/romance vs. the harsh, lifegiving/taking sun, and the tidepools vs. the dramatic lifesaving event) - but that's just me. Go, Lori, go! Esther : ]
Aye, the writer - nose pressed to windowpane, longing to take part, knowing but forever doomed to write about what we see...deeply thoughful poem, Lori. Thank you for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
thought provoking poem.. I guess poets drain their inspiration from everywhere, even from things that other people don't pay attention to them. very well done HBH