A Poem

A calculated vagueness
where truth is a visual
created, the sounds
a sense of song, a satisfaction
beyond the words, beyond
the race to get the world right.

In the pen’s perfection
Earth concedes to space;
the tethered soul takes flight.
Everything and nothing
is concrete, a constant morph
between form and spirit,

The activity of fact and dream
and the circumstance
of imagination. When all is said
and done, the smallest wren
and one feeble ray of sun
make a poem.

2 thoughts on “A Poem

  1. gwendrina

    Hi Sarah

    What a pleasure to visit your blog this morning and find your poetic gems. I love how you capture the formation of a poem, its process and the evolving of its soul. Beautifully worded, and that last stanza is a perfect summation of what poetry is —

    The activity of fact and dream
    and the circumstance
    of imagination. When all is done
    the smallest wren
    and one feeble ray of sun
    make a poem.

    Indeed, a bird and a ray of sunlight — God’s refrain for the day and left there to inspire us, to help uplift and create.

    Beautiful!~
    much enjoyed this,
    Wendy

  2. Dear Wendy,

    It is a joy to see you here. Thank you for your always kind regard
    for my efforts. I spend about 15 minutes a day on screen time.
    Part of that fifteen minutes goes to the Pub. Even though I don’t leave
    a comment, please know that I read every poem. Your work
    goes straight to the soul. Even your replies are poetic and moving.
    You and Jim are ever close in my thoughts and prayers.


    Sarah

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