A Poem is a Stone

To begin this blog, I offer a poem that was inspired by Dylan Thomas' own words, words that would be the inspiration for this blog and that, in a very simple way, define my view of poetry.

A Poem is a Stone
Christopher Bogart

A Poem is a stone
Skimmed over still waters
Leaving concentric circles
In its near perfect wake.

A Poem is a gentle breeze
That rustles dry leaves,
Releasing them from distant trees
And sending them on their journey
To the frozen ground below.

Poems are brief gusts of wind
On brittle branches, tapping tattoos
Against frozen window panes
In vain attempts to enter.

Poetry is symphony.
Its sonorous sounds
Resound
Like the lone bow stroke of a cello,
Excite
Like the flight of slender fingers
Plucking willingly on heart strings,
Borne
On the throaty notes of an English horn.

Poems pound the brain
Like mental rain,
Forming puddles in the mind that
Slowly saturate the soil,
There to boil in deep wells of thought
Bought by the sounds.
That abound
Around words.

Published in Spindrift