Unspoken Word
June 28, 2022

First, I removed all the clocks from my house,
then I removed the mirrors,
I watered the plants, trimmed the dead leaves
and swept the kitchen,
then I went outside and sat on my front porch,
Rumi book in hand,
I just sat there for a long while, doing nothing,
a few people walked by and I waved at them,
they waved back,
a dog barked,
I thought of a few things I had thought of before,
then I opened the book.
Rumi lived 800 years ago,
but he was rocking right next to me on my front porch,
he said something funny that made us both laugh,
for a moment we forgot who we were,
then Rumi started singing a song that made no sense,
kind of like a flock of drunken birds,
flying in a strange pattern,
with the wind at their backs.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 07:11 AM | Comments (0)

June 02, 2022

The tears of a thousand lifetimes searching for you
is the ocean I sail upon today,
the knowledge that both of us are very much alive,
but not in the same room.
Wind in my sails, I see the sun, the sky, and the
backs of my own hands, having aged, it seems,
when I wasn't looking, odd little brown spots
some kind of secret code I do not understand.
This feeling inside me,
this uncontainable, untranslatable feeling inside me
is all I am today,
my heart, a helium-filled child's balloon,
flying free.
I see a lone seagull,
just one,
wings outstretched,
having caught the downdraft
and gliding.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:51 AM | Comments (0)

“I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry.”
— John Cage

Welcome to my new blog — brief ruminations on what it is that moves me (and maybe YOU, too). If any of my poems inspire you, please forward them to friends. Good muse travels fast. Or could, with your help.

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