Saturday, January 10, 2009


I wrote this one night by candlelight in the middle of the woods.
It was cold outside because my wood stove was burning behind me as I sat at my desk and stared out the window. All I saw was my reflection flickering. Pencil in hand I scribbled.

Along this path,
I find myself being swept up within circles.
Circles which seem to merge in & out of others
Intricately connected.

There are borders with no lines,
And lines eluding boundaries.
There is regression - transition,
Resisting - yielding,
Stopping - going.

Power lurks here.
Magnetically phenomenal,
Invisible to sight,
Weightless save for feeling.

I have seen the hint of a pattern - spiralling.
First in; then out - like life breathing.
Pulsations rising to the tempo of heartbeats,
Vibrations to sound,
And truth & discovery to light.

Out here - within,
There are no limits giving reasons to withhold.
Only phantom ghost,
or shells,
Leaving apprehension to lead me astray.


  1. "Weightless save for feeling" - wonderful and heavy.

    The poem and your description of its writing make me really feel. I can feel the pencil - maybe it isn't quite as sharp as you'd like - and the paper - maybe the night air has made it damp - and the little pool of light - just right.

  2. Hi Lo-
    I don't know how to contact you! I hope it's ok to leave your letter here. I am going to give you B--for beautiful poems and of course for Beaux.

    Send me a link when you post!

  3. OK- now I'm thinking this is Beaux's blog. How confusing. Beaux: if you see Lo--please give her the letter B.

  4. i saw this when i looked into an empty champagne glass -
    i love your poem!