A poem is a gift of wonder, one that never stops giving itself, that never stops growing, that never stops evolving with the love that feeds it…
Those were my thoughts after reading Victoria Patella’s latest post, which includes one of my stitched poetry bits—“I am made of wild”—and a delicious poem by her.
see how Victoria made the poetry grow for her
Victoria’s words, her way of digesting the piece, the way in which she relates what she sees… helped me answer a question I hadn’t known I was asking: Why is it that the word “ink”, in a page I’m blacking out, is so difficult for me to resist?
My last three blackout poem bits (after I crafted the first one, a friend challenged me to create two more using the worlds “love” and “ink” *like that’s a real challenge*):
“I art my love in ink.”
“I live for bold ink
‘n’ cheeky love.”
In the sun,
love her eyes,
Photos evolve, too… as you share them and re-experience them with others. When I first saw the picture below, I thought, I really love my t-shirt, and, I so love seeing a bit of urban wild in the middle of New York City, and Goodness, I could cut worlds with that jaw. Hey, I think a lot. Anyway, then someone described what they saw in the picture, and added at least 13 more thoughts to my list.
Sharing is magic that grows.