Planting a Garden

Pitching Pennies Poetry

Threatened,
Bullied,
Overcome
by a blank page
staring dumbly at me.

Superior,
Rigid, this entity
without a soul
until timidly, then boldly
I mark it with my pen.

Slowly It becomes more pliant,
It begins to bend. I show it things…

A bird on a limb,
A latticed rose climbing,
painting scarlet where drab had been.

Suddenly arable, the page becomes a garden. Each line
a row in bloom. The air wears the scent of roses.

View original post

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on May 22, 2020, in Poem - Not Written By Me Though, Reposted from elsewhere. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: