I've just been chatting with a friend on facebook, and exchanging poems. She particularly liked two of mine: Bibliotheca, which was in a previous post here; and Wanderlust. I'm not especially proud of Wanderlust, but I'll put it here anyway.
I open my window and breathe the wind
which speaks to me and says, “Go!
Do no stay! Do not delay your travel!
Go to places where gold domes glow,
above the marble white as snow,
within tragic tales told on triptychs.
Onwards to silver-topped mountains,
glaciers glistening, wind whistling
an unknown, unheard tune.
Then to halls where the om-pah plays
or the markets with the dancing,
prancing, chanting enchanting your soul.
The turning, churning yearning
will never rest!”
I close the window and sigh as all is
I'm hoping to submit a poem/ short story for an anthology, but the deadline is next Sunday. I'm sure I'll manage. It'll be really cool to be a published poet.