Silent Monks

Outside the walls of rhyme and meter
Smiling at sunsets
Calling for crows
Waltzing in the dew
Using the good crystal for orange juice and
Soaking in hot baths...
But here in this poetry place
We miss you

Here, where we huddle at long tables
Heads bowed, shoulders slumped
Scratching ink onto paper
Worker ant scribes
Striking a match with our words
A candle to light the way...
Into this poetry place
So we can miss you

Like silent monks we're in this dream
Plucking words out of the air
Putting them in maniacal order
Rinse, Repeat
Glance down hallways of light
Must summon and conjure, magic wand style...
Inside this poetry place
Because we miss you


  1. Love the image of poet as 'worker ant scribe'. So good!

  2. yes we do we do miss you...

    lots of lovely concrete images here

    (and thanks for including me in your list of beautiful people!)

  3. Thank you both for stopping by :) I'm honored.


    You miss yourself
    Empire didn't entirely fall
    And some of Troy walls
    Are still shining
    Under an artificial sun

    Words don't need any order
    When the hand is free
    They naturally find
    Their own place by themselves
    Illuminating any kind of world
    In ribbons of pashmina
    Or glimpses of magic mushrooms

    So nobody's missed
    Except from your own will
    An unshared part of you
    You did not investigate
    For any kind of good reason