This is a statement (poem?) I wrote when some dawning realisation came two, or was it three years ago that in me, somehow, I was revealing creation, connecting with process and . . . that just possibly, it had something to bring to a world beyond one.

An eager finger turned the first proper page of the crisp new anthology and found this . . .

A line is; intentional being, laid before, the promise of something expressed.
A verse is; soul, flowing across space, created between poised pen and waiting paper.
A poem is; spirit, unexpectedly manifest, in voice, gaze of muse and attentive recipient.
Photograph: Dao river, Portugal, Jonathan O’Farrell

4 thoughts on “Flow

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