The Poet Daniel Turner
Almost everyday
In the cool shade of poetry
I would approach the old tree
That in a lively blossom
Some of which, deep red and blue
Would cast shadow on my rice and bread
Would shake my chromosome, a little,
In my pages so brittle now
The fragrance and forms I would pick up
Yes, of those flowers
Of the intellectual hours
And gather them
I mean the rhythm and the metaphor
The stars of the seer and philosopher
The poet and the scholar
Would gather them
On the water of my small bowl
Of my reflective thoughts and contemplation
In moments of subtle sublimation
A colorful crystallization
The tree is really rich and lovely
Sometimes bubbly sometimes melancholy
It is over a month since
It has no more been bringing out
No cloud and light mixed sprout
Of the lyrics of blossom
To gather and store
For our core
For our sea gull soar
So awesome
On inquiry a friend told me
An arm has got injured
And the spirit unsure
To sap the resources of the soil
To uncoil from it
The flowers of spirit
A book is missing
From my bookcase
A moon from my dream
Like the crows we cannot scream
Still we wish a quick return
From the infirm arm
That, as we learn
Has kept the blooms
_________________________________
09/04/2017
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