How I Knew I Was a Poet
In the cool breeze
of a warm day,
on a northern shore
far from any ocean,
poets talked in silence,
leaves rustling
with each page turned,
and eyes met.
That was where it began.
Words, spoken and carried
on a stellar breeze,
coalesced,
joining two hearts,
their radiance a nebula,
and I knew I was a poet.
Looking back six years, and we are now together five years in Missouri, to the day. A day of celebration. (She makes up for the Missouri part of it.)
rivrvlogr 
Kind of reminds me of a time when I was in Chicago with a group of friends, and we visited The Poetry Foundation’s new building . . . a library of poetry . . . it was about six years ago. Hmm . . . funny coincidence. Same time frame as your poem. Lucky gal, I think. 😉
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I’ll have to introduce you, sometime. ❤
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Congratulations! (Lovely poem, by the way. 🙂 )
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Thank you, twice. 🙂
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Sweet suite ensuite.
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🙂
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This sounds like a lovely way of finding out you are a poet.
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It certainly worked for me!
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Lovely poem–I like how the poets talked in silence and leaves rustled, but in books.
Congratulations on finding poetry and love and poetry in love.
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Thank you, Merril.
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Wow love the video that you paired with it!
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🙂 Thank you.
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I enjoyed hearing this read out. I attended Hull University and Philip Larkin made a huge effort to get live poets to record their own work. It is lovely hearing the human voice story telling and poetry reading thank you.
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Love can do that. Something for both celebration and song. (K)
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🙂
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Great job all around, Ken!
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Thank you, Bob!
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A beautiful poem Ken.
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Thank you, Dwight.
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