Rhythm is not by its own nature
versed in iambic pentameters
to echo perfect pink clouds
Perhaps rhythm is a small triangle
of sea blue sky, at the edge
of a darkened horizon
Or a hiccup probing gently
while I catch my breath
between running rivers
Or rainwater in the stem
of a fragrant red rose
releasing its perfume
But when my heart goes too fast
I forget-shamelessly
the earth does not pause
for my second-hand
for my body to keep time
for my right leg to stop trembling
II
When unbearable hard drums
reverberate daily rhythms
and prayers are without color
When superstitions are chanted and stitched
carelessly on my underpants
with a large safety pin
When inebriations have gone too far
my lips of fear do not sing
my breath tilts backwards
In that moment of muteness
I unwind my helixes one by one
ever so lightly
Its intricate uncurling rests
near my open window
in a wind circle of lilting voices
Just before late afternoon, unwound
and unwrinkled I travel on foot – fearless –
between rhythms everywhere
Wow, I love SO much about this poem–prayers without color–breath tilted backward———-
You inspire me to return to poetry writing!
Hugs from Cuenca,
Kathy
Thanks Kathy, but you are so great at your own writing! We all have different paths and yours leads right into Huffington Post. No small feat. Maybe I will make it one day there…lol.
Kiman A Lucas
From: high in the andes Reply-To: high in the andes Date: Tuesday, October 7, 2014 8:15 AM To: Kiman Lucas Subject: [New post] Rhythm is Everywhere
WordPress.com magdalena posted: “Rhythm is not by its own nature versed in iambic pentameters to echo perfect pink clouds Perhaps rhythm is a small triangle of sea blue sky, at the edge of a darkened horizon Or a hiccup probing gently while I catch my breath between running r”