Conversations with Poets
inspired by "an inquisitive mind"
*when asked to describe Eve
she is not tied to any particular look or age
for it is the power of her passion to create
in its myriad of forms
which draws me in
and renders her beautiful beyond measure...
of light and shadows
a friend of Fibonacci’s golden ratio
able to see and feal
GODs fingerprints everywhere...
she is my Pythagorean muse
i can watch her all day and she i
both the learner
and the listener
unable to lie...
she is a friend to the invisible
able to create from the void
to the abstract...
she is fond of quiet times
enjoying my embrace
and the days
free of distractions...
she likes to listen to
and make music
while we create
she has a willd side
which i encourage
trying new things together
and bringing growth...
she likes the open road
we go on many adventures
driving anywhere together
loving that i love Dylan...
she is comfortable gazing at the stars
laying on her back on top of my compass
going 50 on a country road wind in her hair
as the heavens above smile down on her
as if she were above them...
she is quirky
never failing to entertain
with her observations
her constant singing
and her ever changing look...
she even has fun visiting cemeteries
looking for unique headstones
and making rubbings
i don’t understand it but i enjoy escorting her
to and from the land of the dead...
she likes to walk bridges
and talking about
she wants me but doesn’t need me
for anything but her friend and lover
I am her favorite subject
the poet muse
which makes it all the better...
that i was once a paycheck
until my heart
could no longer afford
the price of admission...
she wants me
and craves me.
for all the right reasons
my heart like no other...
she says she learns from me
though i dont understand how
someone so wise
by my aversion to philosophy...
she laughs when I tell her half joking
that philosophy is a whore selling its wares
to anyone willing to pay its price
always ready to abandon
when we can no longer afford it...
and welcomes me
she looks at me mischievously when i tell her
that passion is a saint offering itself freely
and always willing and wanting
to charge into any situation for the chance to sing...
she smiles most silkily at this and says
come over here and prove it dear poet
sing me to sleep
for my flesh has been to long unattended
and needs to feel the fires again...