October 1, 2014

A Selection Of Poetry by Chris Roe


Soft, virgin white feathers,
Aware of my presence
But not of my world.

Before me, another world,
No analytic philosophy,
No targets, budgets or schedules.
No self-appraisal,
Or attempt to be
Something other than
Just part of.

Now she rests,
Head tucked under wing, 
Slowly drifting down stream,
Among the reeds and dragonflies
And the trees on either bank.

I stayed awhile,
Until the moment was lost
But not forgotten,
A picture to place
Upon this page.


We meet again.
The moment,
Kind and generous,
The beauty,
Peaceful and serene.

The spirit alive
In all that is
And not what could be.

And all of this
Born of love,
In a moment
That is timeless
And always

~Chris Roe

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