I print out poems on hot pink pages
handing them out in the business district,
moving through the dark cool canyons
between towers of glass and steel.
Sometimes a poem is all you can do.
Like breathing,
Like breathing,
or walking with your head tipped back
so you can see the sky.
~Oriah House (c) 2015
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I like it. I do that stuff, too. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteSomeone else I know who hands out poems on the street calls it "poeming." :-)
DeleteI love this one. Your time away seems to have sparked something. Thinking of doing the same.
ReplyDeleteThanks Carol- and yes, the spaciousness does give more room for creativity.
DeleteThank you for the reminder... that's precisely where I am, shutting down around my neurosis... I need to look up... to create space around the habitual tendency... thank you Oriah!
ReplyDeleteSusan, what a great insight- we do indeed tend to close in on ourselves when our neuroses have got us. :-)
DeleteThank you for this:
ReplyDelete"...
Sometimes a poem is all you can do.
Like breathing.
..."
That's what I felt like yesterday. It even felt like a poem was becoming my breath and sustaining my happiness thoughout the day. I will do more poems :-)
. . . a poem was becoming my breath. . . .lovely :-)
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