Saturday, December 29, 2007


On the tip
of the point of a needle
Arms outstretched
One tiny breeze can break the spell

balanced on the tip
of the point of a needle
like a dancer en pointe
untried, fragile gossamer wings spread

one breath can tip the balance
to soar and fly
or to fall and fail
never having flown, fear of breathing

Balanced on the tip
of the point of a needle
to fall without trying
to try and possibly fall



pation. (Sorry, Dr. Frank...)

I choose.
I fly.

387 days


BBC said...



And learn to fly on the way down....

Anonymous said...

Your poem is really beautiful, Sew. I was holding my breath the whole time.

Note to Bill: Your wry comment above is funniest thing I've ever seen you write. I doubt if you intended it to be so, but I had a good laugh. Dry humour is a great way to channel one's negativity as long as you know where the line is and don't step over it into hurtfulness.

Rauf said...

You don't have to do that, you don't have to fight gravity, When you have the option to be on firm ground.


I've flown a few times when I was younger. I think it was either Morrocan red of Pakistani black.

Skunk just sends me to sleep.

Have a great 2008 babe x