Living W's in the Fog

I was looking out my window the other day and it was very foggy and misty outside. You couldn't see very far, but suddenly as I was looking out into the blank gray/white fog, suddenly there appeared for a couple of moments a stunning art form upon that deep blank canvas filling it with unexpected grandeur and wonder. I wrote a poem about it. It is as follows:

LIVING "W's" IN THE FOG

BY MICHAEL SEARS

1-28-08

Breezing, gliding, slipping, sliding,

Silent, stealthy, stupendous, stunning,

Living W's, like apparitions appearing,

For a moment, gliding, borne of the wind,

Then fading away into the white fog.

Gone as quickly as they came,

Only now etched in my mind ,

Another one of God's creations,

Unexpected delights,

Vanished into the mist to make their flight,

Down secret paths we can only imagine.

Living alien lives we cannot know,

Directed by God's divine flow.

If one day you also see them,

You will know.

That's my painting for you, in words. That's what poetry is to some degree. It is the essence of a feeling or the glimpse of a moment in time caught and distilled into a perfume for the mind.

Although short, poems can be powerful. They condense down into concentrated form, an idea, a feeling, a concept, a smell, taste, sight, or sound of something around us or something in our mind. It may be a collective common and easily associated picture, but many times it is abstract and has a very narrow perspective that must be appreciated by a select few who grasp its meaning. It denotes a rhythm of man and a musical quality that is applied not just to notes, which embellish it many times, but to a synapsical journey through unexplored parts of our brain which is the organ of the mind.

The mind and the brain are separate entities, similar to the muscles being the organ of movement, but not movement itself, so is the brain the organ of thought and of the mind, but not thought or the mind itself.

So poetry is a part of music that makes sense of it and can lend itself to our strictest attention and purest awareness so that we have almost a lust to hear its cadence and know its every frame and move with its seductive beat. It makes us gather around like children to hear some wonderful and mysterious story told that will allow our imagination to soar like the birds of the air.