Saturday, September 17, 2011

Music makes me dream

I wanted the music of another world
The music that makes me know how to dream -
But there is no music in me now
And I cannot begin to know how to feel it-

Music is the soul and Music is memory -
Music is love crying out within me as creation-
I need music for there to be Poetry
But the Music I have now hobbles within me
And the Poem that comes is far from a dream.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The potter ~Il vasaio ~

Now the Potter’s hands have scars.
His blood keeps together the clay
As He listens to the melodies of the songs played
By His unbreakable pots of clay.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

He told me a story

I asked this man what he was staring at so intently. He said "my neighborhood". He does not live in my neighborhood, but he was looking at my street. I said "do you live in my neighborhood?" and he said "no, but I designed the houses".

My House was built in 1929. The man told me he knew my house, because he designed my home.The man told me exactly what the inside of my house looked like. The size of the rooms, the windows, the brick and plaster. I was amazed. We talked for a long time. I invited him to come to my house so that he could see it. I enjoyed talking to him.

Two yellow pots

Happy Labor Day America