umoya
the first umoya
were twins:
one decided
it wanted a life
where all paths
are unconceived,
and each breath
something different;
so that it could be
immortal.
this one became 'wind'
the other decided
it wanted a conscious,
so that it knew when one path
was more enjoyable than the other;
so that it knew
which path would be the end of it,
and so prolong its life.
this one became 'spirit.'
Ghrey
actually,
this is a misnomer--
this is a world based on color--
where the flight of vultures
and the call of whales
is an art of interpretation
where history is counted
by the number of stanzas
in a long, continuous song
where vision is seen with the ears,
and
where singing and writing and thinking
share the same word,
'being'
There is something to be said for the eloquence of a scientist,
The concise set of numbers that form a meaningful set of data,
The order and precision in graphs of experiments,
Concrete, solid evidence, back up with cold, hard, facts.
But there is also something to be said for whimsy
Flights of fancy
And creativity.
Thus the poet mathematician
The chemist of emotions
The dissector of the human spirit emerges
Like a strange creature
Blinking in the bright sunlight
Of a world that perhaps
Isn't prepared for
"Ode to the Particular Matter Circling the Planet Saturn".
But we have time.
RVA - Lovely She Inside by BobSmith006, literature
Literature
RVA - Lovely She Inside
Consonance simplified.
Patience personified.
Elegance exemplified.
A lovely she inside.
Consonance simplified -
Hidden harmony is seen;
Flowers flourish in-between;
School and stress a common theme.
Patience personified -
Doctor'd errors exonerate;
Failure is a de-nied fate;
Lessons learned from each mistake.
Elegance exemplified -
Full of grace, proper and prim;
Always allowing someone in;
Thinking through before each whim.
Consonance simplified.
Patience personified.
Elegance exemplified.
A lovely she inside.
Epicurean Poetry, because her poetry
should not be simply understood.
It should trip off the tongue
and trickle through the fingers,
splashing onto a kneecap
whence it slowly drips
down to the toes.
The gooey, opalescent trail
it leaves is reminiscent of
her childhood fingerpainting:
enthralling, without room
for complexity.
Epicurean Poetry, because her poetry
should simply not be understood.