THE LIGHTEST TOUCH
Good poetry begins with the lightest touch,
a breeze arriving from nowhere,
a whispered healing arrival,
a word in your ear, a settling into things,
then, like a hand in the dark, it arrests the whole body,
steeling you for revelation.
In the silence that follows a great line,
you can feel Lazarus,
deep inside even the laziest, most deathly afraid part of you,
lift up his hands and walk toward the light.
Whyte, David (2007-01-01). River Flow: New & Selected Poems (p. 136). Many Rivers Press. Kindle Edition.
I shared this with my youngest granddaughter on her blog this morning.
This whole poem speaks to me of waking up to intimacy. Waking up to that which is closer to you than you are to yourself.
Aliving (my made up word, the "i" is the long "i") what was dead, revealing the ground of being in all of us.
Yes, I think good poems can do that.
Poem As Ground of Being
Poem be my ground,
O sacred arrangements of words,
Images from letters of old,
Pointing to the moon,
The moon of realization.
We are then one.