Thursday, November 03, 2005

The Conch of God

It is said that poetry is the language of the gods.

The Conch of God

A secret language
comes from the silence
of a sunlit chamber. Still.
It lives in the whisper
of a South Sea breeze.
A thought, an image,
an ambient suggestion
obliquely applied
calls in the first word
and highlights the next,
then rises in waves of the tide
to cover the shore of reason.
Cleansing, it recedes
and leaves a blanched seashell
in the silence.


  1. You have come of age with your ancient language and the beautiful light shining through your words blesses many.

  2. you are wierd

  3. just kidding man liked the poem

  4. thanks, eck. we are all blest.

    thanks, wierd. or did you mean wired? or did you MEAN, and were really wanted to NICE?