river waves crashing age old
rocks on banks
basking against cool splashes
kissing grains of sand
shining
through time
like diamonds
beneath the afternoon
sun
the afternoon
son
in unison with wind whispering
tree tops
blossoming lilies
fields of wheat swaying
prairies of tall grass leaning
with fruit trees and gardens so beautiful
that they could be a resting place for kings and queens
while
I'm singing,
I am poetry.
I am
the momentum
beneath the eagle's wings
the musical notes
dancing from blue jays chirping
the morning dew greeting
tender seedlings preparing for the upcoming
harvest …
the still voice
shouting a word
in season
speaking with the tongue of the learned
resting in the expanses
of valleys
that His
words created
I am poetry.
i am
the open space
in the secret place
of wanting more of the immense beauty of his creation
"He"
molded in clay
blood bought
"me"
holy spirit elevated
fed and fattened
from the manna God …
with sweet jasmine rising
above the Congo drummer's drumbeat
river waves crashing
age old rocks
on banks basking in cool splashes
singing …
I am poetry.
I am poetry.
I am poetry.
I am sent me to you.
Written by Theresa Harvard Johnson
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