With my love of words I ventured out just yesterday to a poetry reading.
The poet loves nature and all it's beauty, but I took notice
of a small book about China.
A few excerpts by Tom Crawford, http://www.tomcrawfordpoetry.com/poems/
"From the wooden stool I watch him
pound down the dough
then roll it out, sprinkle in chives,
Sichuan peppers, fold it over,
roll it out again.
Now he takes a black kettle from the stove
and offers me green tea. Together
we sip from our cups and share
a hot shao bin he's torn in half."
Han
"We have come here to be stalled
by our own green hearts, waylayed
by what's past, the way in crosshatched
and slow as the oldest painting,
the black buffalo small against the mountain
still pulls the whole country along
on a single plow
one hoof at a time.
As a young girl I thought all poetry had to rhyme.
Fascinated recently by poetry, I have come to appreciate many styles.
I find writing and poetry are another form of art.
The poet loves nature and all it's beauty, but I took notice
of a small book about China.
A few excerpts by Tom Crawford, http://www.tomcrawfordpoetry.com/poems/
"From the wooden stool I watch him
pound down the dough
then roll it out, sprinkle in chives,
Sichuan peppers, fold it over,
roll it out again.
Now he takes a black kettle from the stove
and offers me green tea. Together
we sip from our cups and share
a hot shao bin he's torn in half."
Han
"We have come here to be stalled
by our own green hearts, waylayed
by what's past, the way in crosshatched
and slow as the oldest painting,
the black buffalo small against the mountain
still pulls the whole country along
on a single plow
one hoof at a time.
As a young girl I thought all poetry had to rhyme.
Fascinated recently by poetry, I have come to appreciate many styles.
I find writing and poetry are another form of art.
