I am standing on a bridge
in the still of the night,
the peaceful water lulling,
when a flash is caught
at the corner of my eye,
and I think I see the white
of wings tracing patterns
on the dark sky.
Then, as suddenly it is gone,
if ever it was truly there;
and my soul becomes restless
as the logical mind retreats
and intuition gains my heart.
Comments
A dream
maybe or a moment of meditation? Whatever it was, you've created some nice images and left me with the same thought, did that really happen?
v. enjoyable dear tyro.
tyro
to add to what Rula has said, the verses create a trance like image when thoughts transcend the material vision.
it does create a calm...
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Well done poem
Well done poem....I've yet to listen to the outlaws song, why winter was my first thought, but you've described it beautifully and I learned a new word
The best photographs are the ones in our memories. Our own photo album visible only to us. Brilliant write.
I love the metaphors you used, they speak volumes in this peice. This is very well written!
an interesting look at how we
an interesting look at how we go to intuition when logic fails. you don't normally think of intuition as something that unsettles. a fresh poem.
Yes, dear Rula,
Yes, dear Rula,
it really happened. Something caught at the corner of my eye, and then I was not sure if it really happened, or if I imagined it. And this was the birth of the poem.
Thank you raj
Thank you raj
I very much like your take on the poem, "the verses create a trance like image"
thank you very much Chevyvent
thank you very much Chevyvent
thank you Gregwa8
thank you Gregwa8
"an interesting look at how we go to intuition when logic fails." that is pretty much it.
Sweet poem!
The last lines could be done shorter
as my mind retreats
and intuition gains.
Great image, I enjoy standing on that bridge with you.
I imagine it is an early summer, warm wind, sweet smell of arrowwood, every color is dimmed except white. The wooden bridge arches high above glistening with broken reflections, dark, and quiet river. It is so quiet that I hear flapping wings. White awl of somebody's dream passed me by.