Komorebi Land Where Poems Are Made
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there was no English word for this poem. had to use a Japanese word. shame on you English!
KOMOREBI
The Land Where Poems Are Made
Chorus chords of
Sounds mutter, iambically
Especially forming tongues throughout the ages
To give birth to rhyme in metered rages
Ancient rants, bellow from the depths
Of hollowed souls, needing to be refueled
As a lamp that all too quickly burned its wick.
So, yes, I toss and turn with loads, puns unsought
And words, dance wildly in my sleepless mind.
Yet, drifting bass-backwards through the woods,
and weeds of thought.
Ah yes, I am chasing dreams and nightmares too.
Hoping doors will open in the whimsical worlds in time.
That I may be the wise woman that writes the poem;
Whose poetic flute plays the tunes that pied the poets’ minds
Mimes leading them to that open space-
Where the light shines through the cove of trees;
Where ditties and missives, are the leaves that glisten.
Where rhymes, and poems nod and dance in the breeze,
And hang like wisdom’s fruit off grand poetic trees.
We pluck, we eat, we deliver that which we seek to write.
Remembering KOMOREBI
… We then finally, peacefully, now spirit-filled, we sleep.!
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2017
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