It's just poetry, it won't bite

Ars Poetica

06.06.16 Posted in today's words by

Maureen Donatelli’s most recent poem to appear here was Daydream at the End of Winter (March 2013) 

Ars Poetica
By Maureen Donatelli

However unlikely, it all depends
upon the pulse soft skin
along the inner wrist, the tiny bones

the tangled curve of fingers
guiding ink flow,
words divining ground

finding the seep, planting spaces
for breath. And it’s better
when rivers of troubled rain

carve a fine blue sky in the window,
when there is ease in the snap
of chestnuts leaving the tree.

How does the air part silent
before each colossal endeavour to seed?
Listening to the pulse, the ear gathers

what forgiveness it can find in wounds,
searches their names, while the full warm heart
spills song across the page.

And somewhere in the gut the soul
births anew on each breath breaking open.
Rest and venture, rest and venture.

Some reasons suffer questions, others echo,
forming stars. In time the lightened body will rise
to make tea and walk slippered among miracles.

3 Responses to “Ars Poetica”

  1. Charlene james says:

    Very, very nice.

  2. This poem really makes me think.

  3. Sharon Poch says:


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