Countenance of a Bay
Upon this Bay there are castaways
sailing upon a ship of emoters
writers and readers, singers, and ringers
of feelings wave after wave.
This group has each other and only themselves
the way it should be in poetry and life,
just moving along rippling out songs--
rhythms of internal and external strife.
While other days, when waves are smooth
with glittering sunshine in the groove,
there might be a tune about flowers in bloom
and bunnies hopping along the way.
But never let it be said that poets are dead;
they are eternal and ride upon the wind--
a breeze of souls complete and whole
whisper with fire and desire to write again.
So listen well and look to the sails
as they billow carrying the ship across the night
white shadows of light, a star shining sight--
streaming gliders of time in wonder of rhyme.
It might be so that free verse will flow
upon rising sounds of remembrance
echoing calls, revealing to us all,
our poet bay's beautiful countenance.
Poetry by Kathy Lockhart
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Written on 2009-02-17 at 00:06
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