the poetic life
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A berry, berry, berry good morning!
— the seeds of the coffee berry, roasted, and brewed — one third of a papaya (a berry) — a handful of berries — the blue ones
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The Poetic Palate
Are we the only animal that composes, and makes poetry, eats it, and, in the end, after the joy of having eaten it, rejoices in looking at what is left, still seeing poetry?.
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In the most beautiful, most gentle, most moving moments of tears, not those of physical pain, painful memories, sudden loss
in the joy of beautiful, gentle, moving tears, if not the body, what is being touched?
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There is the Human, and there is the Self
There is the human spirit – resiliance – perseverance – love – inclusion – survival a common intrinsic energy, from all directions, and in all directions. And there is the self – with an edge – imagining outside the box – with inner joy – with inner want – with inner universes – each potentially…
Sila Blume 