Where Poetry Lives
i think i got it all wrong
poetry does not live
in the moon and the stars
it is the gray dove that
sits on the knobby bare branches
of a choke cherry tree
puffed up
warming itself in the
morning sun
the small squirrel
the one with a slight limp
that stuffs its cheeks
full with seeds the sparrows
have dropped in the
grass under the bird feeder
the hissing sound of the
shiny tea kettle filled with hot
water bubbling and bouncing
on the back burner of a
flat top stove ready to
become my morning tea
rhymeswithbug 
excellent ars poetica. as good as MacLeish.
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thank so much!
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Love it! Poetry is all around us…
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thanks
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This is pretty much my own mission statement when it comes to poetry. It’s grounded in everyday reality…I find so much of it there, I feel no need to reach for the ethereal (that’s why I never write about faeries–lol)
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Delightful… poetry is the little things.. in the grass and the stones…. love your thought
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I LOVE this poem, full of wonderful images and scenes. Such rich descriptions!
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I agree. Poetry is in all the huge little things that make our days. If we see them with eyes of our hearts, poetry happens… and it’s yummy!
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Oh gosh!❤️ I love your poem soo much! “it is the gray dove that sits on the knobby bare branches
of a choke cherry tree puffed up warming itself in the morning sun.” *swoon*❤️
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You’ve got it just right, Candy! Love it! Especially:
‘the hissing sound of the
shiny tea kettle filled with hot
water bubbling and bouncing’.
I’m off to make a cup of tea!
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Yes, poetry lives where I do. Love your interpretation of where one finds poetry.
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kaykuala
the hissing sound of the
shiny tea kettle filled with hot
water bubbling and bouncing
How ordinary sounds in the house can be so poetic to a sensitive poet here! Great word-craft Candy!
Hank
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