December 2010
2 posts
poetry can save the world… 1
NOW
by Robert King I shuffle on snowshoes through the pines in last night’s snow—so where I am was not here yesterday—and arrive at a rocky creek, ice tightened over the chatter of secret water. Earlier I knew every question, my name was “He-Who-Answers-Himself.” Now I am only whatever listens, whatever sees what’s hidden below and everything hidden above. Now I am breaking, coming...
WatchSometimes, just hearing the waterfall while I sit, or sit writing, is so much in the way of energy that whatever had been carried to that moment is no longer. And suddenly I am remembering a fragment, those words of Anais Nin about writing: “If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don’t write…”