31 January 2013

of wings

'Why is my love always a crying thing of wings?'
So asked Carl Sandburg in HAZE from Harvest Poems. Oh, that is such a marvellous line, I am deeply admiring jealous of it.

Here are some poems I wrote today:


My green hearted forest of blooming dreams
Brave are you
Tall are you
Pure and waving are you.


Within each, a lover and a thinker.
The poets, however, have forgotten how to think at all.
The philosophers are in love with thinking.
The fools have all together forgotten love.


The roots of a mighty tree spread wide;
"But I know nothing of vast things," says the tree.
"Only, I wear the setting sun as a crown every day
And am satisfied."

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