No explanation for this poem, just watching the Mediterranean Sea and the wind and pondering…
I wrote this poem after we had spent half a day with Tamara, our Russian guide, in Moscow touring the Kremlin, Red Square, Lenin’s Tomb, and the Russian Crown Jewels.
Every Word Every word I write, I engrave upon your heart, that you will see the hidden person of me without form of beauty, without benefit of education, without power of possession, without significance of fame. Every word I write, I engrave upon your heart that you will know what I reveal, what I conceal, … More Every Word
The Door I stumble up the stairway to the harbor of your heart. The light within, shining from the window of your eyes, draws me deeper. Breathless and trembling, I tap at the entrance. Will you fling wide the door And sweep me to your heart?
We are in Florida, stealing away for a few days of respite. It rained today. I love the rain. I posted this poem sometime ago, but am re-posting. I guess it is how I feel today with the rain.
**************** Language to a writer is rare–each word like cellared, reserved wine. ******************* The writer plummets the river of language for nugget and gemstone.
I wrote this poem in St. Petersburg, Russia, after hearing an old Russian soldier play marches on his accordion in the square. On his wool coat, he had pinned dozens of military medals he had won fighting for the ideals of Mother Russia.