It's not that you're chasing a white moth through the forest; it's just that she happens to be flying ahead of you, right? It's just that things come to you when you're walking. And you to them.
An ephemeral forest pool, fed by spring rains. Here at the top of the watershed the rain doesn't quite know where to go, so it sits for a while. Ripples on the surface show how any point can be the center of an expanding universe. I love watching them intersect and cancel each other out.
Poems by Dave Bonta, Plummer's Hollow, Pennsylvania poet-in-residence.
Every neighborhood should have its own poet—even if the "neighborhood" consists of just three houses surrounded by hundred of acres of mountaintop woods and fields. And someday,…
Poems by Dave Bonta, Plummer's Hollow, Pennsylvania poet-in-residence.
Every neighborhood should have its own poet—even if the "neighborhood" consists of just three houses surrounded by hundred of acres of mountaintop woods and fields. And someday, I hope, every neighborhood poet will have his/her own videopoetry channel, too. In the meantime, here's mine.
Because I don't share videos of my own poems at movingpoems.com I wanted to make them a little easier to find here — the good ones, anyway. The others can stay buried in my archives. And I'm deeply grateful to the other videopoets who have elected to remix my words.
