Clairvoyant landscapes moving yet frozen
Give me a paintbrush to define poetry
All movements of a riverbed reflected
Give me a pen inks flowing subjectively.
I'll show you a spotted salmon swam willingly
To climb out the furthest deepest, falls…
A poets like a woodlouse's gnawing
…Away at life, from inside-out…
What he builds places for the quivering air?
A bridge over the void of space…
Like a spider weaving her web to snare.
Poets tend to live in Blue-John mines
In some mystical crystal hermits cavern
Listening to the lapping of spring waters
They're like remote smokestacks lingering
On clairvoyant landscapes moving yet frozen.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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