a child's butterfly

[revolutionR]

When a child saw a butterfly
they did not see a word
until somebody said the word

every language has a word
but is some one word can mean
many different things

if you write poetry in English
then you are bound by the
meanings of English words
but to some extent you can
play with meanings
but if you are looking for facts
then language will stick to them

if you wrote poetry in Punjabi
you would be more poetic
because Punjabi is still pure
more close to meaning not facts
as facts can be lies, we just take
them as truth because language
has lost purity

Children see meaning everywhere
as they learn language, they either
become an artist and then learn
how to paint with words
and not to prove black and white

[stilltrucking]

poetry I can use
thank you

[revolutionR]

glad it worked for you.

[stilltrucking]

sticky poetry
you used your words very well
one of my favorites by you.
"where can I find a man who forgets about words and have a word with him"

[revolutionR]

I try not to think about it too much
it's like blanking out part of my brain
sometimes you can say more with less
little meaning can mean much
even mistakes can work
sometimes, more often then not
not, maybe not

[stilltrucking]

I think I know what you mean
I have talked away my intent so many times I don't like to think much about these multitudinous and maybe random posts on studio eight boards, try not to think too much about finding a pattern or meaning in them. i try to think of charlie Chaplin building movie sets with no script just putting it together as the sets came together.
however you do it
I am just thankful you do
made me feel a lot younger after I read it

[mtmynd]

words... words... words
all but sounds in a desperation
to share experiences...
to capture moments...
in urgent need to show
without being there that
thing... moment... glimpse
we had was validated thru
words... words... words
once upon a moment gone
the brilliance of sound
once removed recalls the
echoes of silence made
when we were at home
the home before Homer
the home before Bantu
the home before Siddhartha
remains in the silent word
where holiness is smothered
and wordlessness becomes
unbound... free... at last
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