Something has been said about
“writing down the bones”
which sounds like a good practice
if you’re learning anatomy.
But the first time I heard the phrase,
I thought it was
“writing down the poems,”
So I am.
Writing down the poems
moving my bones,
the ligaments lightly holding the pen–
black on paper, blue, too,
re-living the washing of water
by their words,
like taking a bath in beauty
that leaves me breathless.
If I bathe with this cleansing flood,
soak in the senses,
sounds of someone else’s heart
in my soul,
I’m sure the echo will ring out
true on the other side–
wash and rinse cycle of syllables,
leaving a residue
of beauty, grace, truth
pouring out on this side of eternity
with my pen,
writing down the poems.
~~~~~~~~
It has been said if you want to BE a good poet, you should READ great poetry,
so I’ve been soaking (and scribing) Gerard Manley Hopkins
and George Herbert, glorious wordsmiths of earth and eternity.
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