Sweet dreams.
Lovable toy to sleep with.
Your parents and God and sisters
love you.
You feel safe
because you are.
written by Victoria, my 7 year old daughter, who says she wants to be a poet when she grows up...from the mouths of babes.
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.
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Welcome to "When I Wax"-- a place to escape the pedants and wax poetic, or even wax artistic.
The mythologist Joseph Campbell was asked by an interviewer how a regular person could preserve his sense of the mythic when so many feel too besieged by the claims of every day living. He said, "You must have a place to which you can go, in your heart, in your mind, or your house, almost every day, where you do not know what you owe anyone or what anyone owes you. You must have a place you can go to where you do not know what your work is or who you work for, where you do not know who you are married to or who your children are."
When I Wax is such a place for me. Blogging drafts of poetry and other sundries is like practice fly-casting on the front lawn... it may look silly, but it's effective...
The mythologist Joseph Campbell was asked by an interviewer how a regular person could preserve his sense of the mythic when so many feel too besieged by the claims of every day living. He said, "You must have a place to which you can go, in your heart, in your mind, or your house, almost every day, where you do not know what you owe anyone or what anyone owes you. You must have a place you can go to where you do not know what your work is or who you work for, where you do not know who you are married to or who your children are."
When I Wax is such a place for me. Blogging drafts of poetry and other sundries is like practice fly-casting on the front lawn... it may look silly, but it's effective...
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CURRENT MOON
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.
Thank you
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
George Gordon Byron
The Destruction of Sennacherib
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.
6 comments:
She certainly has a gift. It's simple but beautiful through and through. She's blessed to have poetry in her genes.
i can see where she gets it. :)
Such reassuring words. The ending tugs at the heart. ^_^
(to sweet Victoria: have fun with words, darling.)
Wow, that's good. She has got it from you, no doubt! :-)
How absolutely delightful. Simple, sweet and to the point. May all her best dreams come true.
"safe
because you are."
The beauty of innocent child's words. She has a great role model.
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