Everyone on this train is foreign – but the henna handed women have wild faces; smell of desert spice.
The other passengers sit tight to themselves,
settled next to the windows and in corners attached to their bags and selves while these nomads chatter and preen, arrange and rearrange space and perceptions.
They need no baggage,
are wrapped deep blues night,
and canary yellows of morning, their husky voices dark secrets.
Their boundlessness lends them such grace
no base thought can contain them
Welcome to The Tangled Branch! Join us.
Otherworldiness
Re: Otherworldiness
Good read Dave.
Well written (strange format aside) and with great respect for these modern nomads.
are wrapped deep blues night, Are you missing a word here?
Well written (strange format aside) and with great respect for these modern nomads.
are wrapped deep blues night, Are you missing a word here?
Re: Otherworldiness
Hi Colm
Thanks. I simply could get the poem to format properly, especially on the mobile phone, it does whatever it wants. I have no idea how to change it. No word missing.
Dave
Thanks. I simply could get the poem to format properly, especially on the mobile phone, it does whatever it wants. I have no idea how to change it. No word missing.
Dave