Chris Woodyard James
Scrambling to grab words by the tail
before the slip through my hands
and out across the rolling hills
Using a fishing rod and a broken hook
I pull them back
one by one
You draw love
out of a blue box
and place it's roots in the ground
you cover the base of it
with small rocks
and soft flowers you have found
Colourful words
some spoken, some unheard
thoughts expressed in rhyme
speech slowing
and quickening
the movement of time
People change
like the seasons
but yet,
I can't
change myself
As watchful eyes
a blank canvas is a poem,
yet to be composed
A heart beginning -
to open
with eyes
(words randomly chosen from the book 'manifestos of surrealism')
May your ideas dance freely
as the words you speak
remove the corners of square conversations
and attach emotion + sound
at second glance
to the ones that expand spherically
Speak easily
your voice in my favourite colour
I hold your words
in my hands
and watch them bloom like a flower
I keep them in my garden for inspiration
If words are a collection of letters,
living together
then what language is spoken
between the empty spaces of each symbol?
Rummaging through ink drawings
that you catch with your umbrella
on rainy days
This is how
you write poetry
without
