“The lightest touch” Good poetry begins with the lightest touch, a breeze arriving from nowhere, a whispered healing arrival, a word in your ear, a settling into things, then, like a hand in the dark, it arrests the whole body, steeling you for revelation. In the silence that follows a great line, you can feel…
On the magic mirror of its white space,
The soul sees before her the place of the miracles
His daylight wanderings. Forever done
With simple joys and quiet happiness
He guards the vision of the sunset sky;
Many years ago, in a little village in Russia, there lived a tailor named Isaac who loved his wife, Rachel, and his family with all his heart.
O muse of mine please work with me, Teach me to write simplistically And I shall seek no grander plan; Just poetry for the common man.