—: What A Poem Is :— A poem is a word, that unfolds its strange and hidden meanings only to those that know the touch of warm moist earth about its roots? A poem is a sound, faint and distant, that floats through the mind that's atune to its warming, rhythmic chorus. The echo of tiny silver bells, tripping through the aisles of darkness. A poem is a wand, an ebon sprig cut from a splendid tree called life. To all that know its power it calls into being a host of nimble sprites whose shadow sickles keen, reap the emeralds of the night. A poem is you, if you but know of the cool and sparkling streams that flow, around the mountains of your mind! These are the rills that sing in rhyme! They flow through fragrant moors awaiting that hour that's yours; to burst the dam of eternal time, and flood thy page with verse sublime. (Then patiently the dactyl kine Shall feed beside the trochee swine!)
This is the only known poem by Illinois poet Kenneth Haney, published in American Poetry Magazine in 1928.
—: Utterations :— for Kenneth Haney by Dick Whyte I. poeming: begin once become twice belong thrice beforesight II. what poems are & are not: zero-dimensional points in which words w-o-r-l-d-s- resist being III. empty this sack of stars in the river mouth filled with moon: eyes with mud worship what remains
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More poems about the earth . . .
I love the poem and your response and part three of your response poem is sublime!
I enjoyed reading this, Dick.