Magic Pots


You can tell a poet
by the way she hands out pens
to fill up forms where they ask you
if you own any guns
And the way she sits on the park bench
letting the rough concrete feel her calluses
breathing in an orchard of trees
some planted, some not

You can tell by the way her neck turns
to the sky following winter
as it travels on gull wings into spring
or by the way she moves her ladle with precision
like moon tides stirring oceans
as if the very act of churning the soup
will bring forth another earth from within

Or you can surely tell when
robbed of her pens
her bench
her park, her trees
or her birds and their seasons
and made to stir
an empty pot over and over again,
she does bring forth another earth
unsullied by her losses
and flies over it
with stronger wings

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

The Magic Bed

when another (anointed as lady lucky) resident renter bequeathed her bed prior to that good samaritan deed thyself and spouse slept on the floor like dogs dead tired from another day acclimatizing ourselves, especially when tummies got well fed and

The Magic Of Love

The Magic Of Love short poem

With a checklist in my mind Prince Charming, I was hoping to find It is only now that I realize When he comes, it will be a surprise Things will not go according to my plan He will have his

Love Has Magic

Love Has Magic short poem

Love what a magical word.. When comes in mind it changes everyone’s world. Sometimes i wonder why we say it magical May be its the power which make it mystical Its the supremacy that make anyone perceive That he can

Moment Memory Magic Of Life

Moment Memory Magic Of Life short poem

Moments of Life Moments Memories the Reality of Life to Cherish Always….. Moments that made me breath….. Moments that made me alive…… Moments that made me see….. Moments that made me smell….. Moments that made me taste….. Moments that made

Black Magic

Black Magic short poem

He was still paying the price for ultimate unbending. Before the black icon locked the waves to start tremors for an apolitical murder. He took the call and stood straight, stopped the melodrama of drinking the venom and became larger