Newspaper poetry

I love this newspaper poem by Austin Kleon, found here. I probably wouldn't want the print, but love the idea of his poetry.

I also love that it's about his wife.

Poem and picture friday.

With a severed hand and light in my eyes
I'll sink into this feeling of safety.
Am I letting go
Or am I holding on?
Deep down I know what I want.
Everything in me screams rebellion against feeling soft.
It's amazing how fast the heart goes from stone to flesh,
And back again.
Not yet.
So much further to go.
Move away
Turns my stomach
Stings my fingers.

-me

-photo by anna wolf

Poem and a picture friday.

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

photo here.
poet here.

May my heart always be open

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail

pulling all the sky over him with one smile

-e.e. cummings
photo by me