Ken's Poetry

Only Language

It’s only language,
be it a grunt or a wave of the hand.
The dog has a way of saying
as does the melodious blackbird:

but we have a way of telling
painting a picture in air
passing ideas from hand to hand.
Your mind is my garden

let me stir up your thoughts
with horticultural words
in the afternoon
when the air is hot and earthy.

It’s a way of arousing
touching the tips of passion,
a way of persuading.
It’s only language.