Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

an afternoon zephyr
caresses my arid face
invisible hands like a geisha removed,
it would be far too hot
on my porch without her

I count my blessings
in lay terms, sip my water from the spring....
tune out the traffic
and fall down the well
where poetry bubbles up
in ascending columns of air

I like the protection
of circular stone walls
I cling to the handholds
my toes and mind on a ledge
of subterranean thought,
no one can disturb me here

this tube of my invention
this cylinder of creative cool
I click my heels like Mr. Bojangles
breathe into the expanding bellows
where imagination is blown
to a most willing and humble scribe

You're on a springboard of pure poetic drama
each word a prestile moment of instantanity
suggesting how the buffalo felt as their losses
in the plains by the foreign occupiers cocked their rifles
again and again and again only to create mountains of bones.

[grazie, amigo!]

what a cool reply, cecil, to a fabulous poetic journey, steve.
a wealth of images to bathe my morning mind

Gracias, Judih!

thanx friends....great responses....