Fleeting Sweet Sensation

I’ve spent my days a wanderer
Mostly on the roam
Though on the way I’ve made myself
Many a lovely home

Sometimes one room a mansion in
Sizeable, with a solid wall
So life occur at will within
And I don’t have to hear it all

Other times that room
At one half or one third the size
Sometimes with but a curtain
To protect me from all passers’ eyes

Sometimes not even that
A simple corner of a room
Arrange my bags for color
Drape my scarves upon the broom

Oh, I’ve made homes in teepees
And in yurts and trailers, and
Once to a geodesic dome
I even put my hand

I’ve made many a camp
In deep woods or roadside by
And turned the backs of trucks into
Inviting nests in which to lie

Everywhere I go
The very first thing that I do
Is put the pretty things up front
The plainer ones away from view

And seek just for a moment
Ere once again away it go
That fleeting, sweet sensation
That I have a home to know



Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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