This Tao called Poetry

Tao
Poetry
It eases everything
Into a flow
When I recall
It
Is
Just
So

Just
So
Is
All

The boring and inconsequential task
The folding
The washing
The putting away
Dealing with
The annoying
The aggravating
The opinionated
The grasping
The insane
When I am angered
Frustrated
Saddened
I stop
Remember
It
Is
All
Poetry
Blood in my veins
Runs
Ink
Down the page
Reminding me
It
Is
All
poetry
And I am restored

It has become my guiding light
My faith
And the lens through which I view life
Poetry – to me – is love
Pure love alive in the world
And the way in which it is spread
When using words as the medium for transfer
Between one human
And many
Or just one
What it touches
Where it touches
Is love
Everything is poetry

The empty coffee cup three days old and crusted brown at the bottom
The bread hardened by exposure to air
Brittle and forgotten
The dew drop of a leaf
That spatters your shoulder as you brush by
On the way for a morning run
The poetry that flow out of me
And into you
Painting pictures
Pulling chords
Recognising the familiar
In my words
Drawing us together
For the few moments that it takes to read the lines
Perhaps longer
If they are memorable
And stick to the mind
Perhaps forever
If they are good enough to remind
Time and time again
And the only way we will change anything
Is through love
So
More poetry
Is needed


The photo in the header is of Uluru. That other sacred place.

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