Seeing Outside

The moon and the fog create
high up, a window;
a window which shows the eye
that stitches together
the outer and the inner,
that makes breath
seamless with thought
and dusts the windows
made from living tree bark
with a feather-duster of frost.
It seems so silly
to use a feather-duster
on solid, uninterrupted brown-
the proof that one need not see
through any window
to see outside.

2 august 08

poem by Rebekah Gamble
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Flaw

I remembered last night.
I told the child
that that was not blood
on our friend's body,
only red flower petals
all wet from the rains,
and to be quiet,
or we would wake him up
and ruin the special dreams
that come from sleeping
under red flower petals.
There is a flaw in the face of man
called war
that begs the question:
does the memory of the dead
hold up the living?
Perhaps sleeping
under red flower petals
will cause me to forget about it.

poem by Rebekah Gamble
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Act of Writing Poetry

Writing poetry
is making honey for the unseen,
or from the unseen, perhaps.
It's being busy building sweet combs
from faults, memories and failures
while remembering the importance
of keeping an earthly link
while remaining part of the Outerworld.
It's walking a tightrope
for the Outerworld has no boundaries,
only scattered seeds
sometimes burning, called stars then,
that serve as six points
with which we make a specific place
in which to move and float.

2 august o8

poem by Rebekah Gamble
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!