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Click hereTinkerbell, beam of light elusive
and poring through my fingers,
nothing more and nothing less
than fantasy, pure and simple,
floating like a fledgling feather
on the vast, Virginia breeze,
my muse, my elusive muse.
Well, you're gone now,
or were you ever here?
I am left alone to follow
these footprints through
shifty sands of desert dunes,
nomadic as a Bedouin,
stupid as a camel.
But I faithfully follow these tracks
in the heat of the wind and sand
until I discover the source
is right back where I began,
and all I find out is that
I am searching for myself.
So, how DO you hold
a hurricane in a cup,
lightning in a bottle,
a phantom wind,
a tsunami tamed?
A mirage, though unreal,
still more than enough
to keep you searching
because you cannot help
how you feel.
...imagery. the one spot that really took my eyes in was this:
So, how DO you hold
a hurricane in a cup,
lightning in a bottle,
a phantom wind,
a tsunami tamed?
A mirage, though unreal,
still more than enough
to keep you searching
because you cannot help
how you feel.
overall this piece is very fluid......very nice......
I resent the implication that camels are stupid....what does that make the rider.....other than that....wonderful poem...left me thirsty for more...thanks Steve.. ;)
*thermometer overheated in desert
I love this poem. I wish my muse was as obliging.
Great work, steve.
{no therm.}
Glad Steve is back. Another strong poem from an excellent poet!