A Forest Memory
I wrote a poem.
I started to write what it felt like to wear a kilt, then the words laid themselves down and became something more, probably something better than I had planned.
Writing is like that for me. I try to stay out of the way and let my fingers do the work.
I like this poem. I think I captured part of the feeling of naturalness, of the free feeling of wearing a kilt. But it's not exactly what I started out to write.
I think I'll continue with kilt poetry and see what happens.
A Forest Memory
In the filtered green light of the deep forest,
my steps guided by game trails,
caressing leaves as I stroll alone,
I am encompassed in the fullness of life.
It moves over me, through me,
my head swims hazily with it,
and I revel giddy in the misty joy,
holding it loosely with open arms,
for it will pass into memory,
as pain can be remembered,
but not felt anew.
Terry Varga
April 23rd, 2008
I started to write what it felt like to wear a kilt, then the words laid themselves down and became something more, probably something better than I had planned.
Writing is like that for me. I try to stay out of the way and let my fingers do the work.
I like this poem. I think I captured part of the feeling of naturalness, of the free feeling of wearing a kilt. But it's not exactly what I started out to write.
I think I'll continue with kilt poetry and see what happens.
A Forest Memory
In the filtered green light of the deep forest,
my steps guided by game trails,
caressing leaves as I stroll alone,
I am encompassed in the fullness of life.
It moves over me, through me,
my head swims hazily with it,
and I revel giddy in the misty joy,
holding it loosely with open arms,
for it will pass into memory,
as pain can be remembered,
but not felt anew.
Terry Varga
April 23rd, 2008
