Saturday, August 14, 2010

Rough Draft

I wrote this poem at the laundry mat yesterday and it may not be done but I want to share it.

At the Washtenaw Coin Laundry

I love this town and all its colors
so many shades of black and brown and tan
on skins and eyes and hair and hands
accents that come from     I know not where
languages lilting lyrical lullabies
myriad mantras
so many gods    all one
All One
cultures not clashing
not shocking me
only calling to my eyes and ears
with whispers of lands I'll never see
secrets of souls
swishes of fabric and whiffs of oil
spices speak sustenance
words awaken wonder
music exciting in mixed-up modes
drifts from windows where
kitchens sit with laden bread
always a table to be filled with old places
a landscape of different
aromas  abundant      call back in time
ancestral  answers     gifting with grace
a smile touching eyes
gives me welcome without words
human-ness beyond language
beyond any perception
of not-like-me

8 comments:

  1. Wow! I wish I could write something half that good - doing laundry. Truth is I could sit for ten hours in sheer concentrated silence, and I probably could never produce an insightful poem like this. And you say this is a ROUGH draft?

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  2. Thank you so much! I dwell in gratitude to the muse, and to my city.

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  3. Oooh I'm feeling all grown up - I've never had to agree to view the contents of a blog before. Anyway, a truly awe inspiring verse - only calling to my eyes and ears with whispers of lands I'll never see - so beautiful.

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  4. I know- I didn't really want to put that block there but I felt obligated when I wrote the post "It's About Sex". Not that it's particularly inappropriate but not for kids either.
    Glad you liked it! I'm sending it to We'moon for consideration. Hopeful!

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  5. I love this poem, you used beautiful language! I know exactly what you mean too, I love the melange of scents and all the differences that are still things we have in common.

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  6. Thanks. I love this poem, it makes me feel happy.

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  7. Thanks! I get happy whenever I read this poem.

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