the line of thirteen

Poem #60 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction


today he read
a line

in the book
on the page

somewhere
close to the center

an average line
thirteen words
or fourteen

ebb and flow
from the start

to the end

he pondered
the beauty
of words
arranged by typeset

in a straight line
pressed across the page

he thought it
good

it left him
warm

after a contemplation
he could almost
countenance
reading another

a serious temptation
but
no

thirteen words
laid out
as a thing of beauty
is enough

best to put aside
the page
the book
and to ponder again
what he has read

anticipate
the words to come
tomorrow

it is so
exciting


© Frank Prem 2017

Bachelard and me Poem #61: the sculpt

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3 thoughts on “the line of thirteen

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