A Poet's Eye (Haibun)
by Ronald A Pavellas
What may seem ordinary and unremarkable to some, can be otherwise for one with, let us say, a poets eye.
Setting aside the eternal, internal argument of whether this or any being is a poet, or merely someone who emits words in various ways that others nominate as poetry, I do seem in my circle of fellow humans to look at things afresh, askew, perhaps in a child-like way.
Yesterday, as I sat myself down in a subway train to return home from the Cafe Fix near Fridhemsplan in Stockholm where I read the latest letter from Fred in California, I was immediately aware of two young women, no longer little girls, sitting near, across from me. One had to move her legs to accommodate me.
A brief, glancing scan told me they could be sisters, around age 15.
They had a special way of being with each other that reminded me of my twin granddaughters, aged 20.
I was merely three stations away from my destination so I had but little time, with surreptitious glancing, to ascertain they were, indeed, twins. It felt good.
I thought of Sabrina and Samantha and their special sisterly way, their confident Being with each other, the lack of artifice between them.
So, this little occasion stayed with me and I felt the need to to tell others of it.
It was nothing special to them.
Being disappointed in failing to send this special feeling to others, I concluded that a poet (may I use this appelation? should I?) sees things differently.
A poets eye sees
Patterns, worlds and wonderments
In the usual
Posted on 05/27/2006
Copyright © 2019 Ronald A Pavellas
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/27/06 at 01:18 PM|
Enjoyable observation to read and think about.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/27/06 at 02:42 PM|
Much truth and wisdom here Ron. I especially like that definition of poets in the closing stanza. Well stated!
|Posted by JD Clay on 05/27/06 at 04:42 PM|
This harkens back to the thought that poetry is instinctual and its perception is left to a vision of discernment. The essence of life could very well be missed in a blink, but not in your Poet's Eye.