Phillip’s Place for Poetry
I have a place for poetry, right here.
It is not straight although the laptop screen
Demands its squared-off angles. Like a weir
That holds it shining waters, this leaved scene
Is set among reality, among
Realities, a bit of nuanced pink
And leaves and messy papers. Lines are sung
Here on a keyboard. It’s a dusty pink
Between my fingers, brain, and brimming heart—
And epic leaps they make. My rolling chair
It can slide me towards eternal thoughts. I part
The Red Sea waves and fly off anywhere:
The rhymes are Aaron’s rod in rhythm’s sway.
The breakthroughs come. I feel the ocean spray.