This summer I made a bonfire of my loves. Beneath the pregnant clouds and still air Of the sweltering nights, as the breeze died, My remembrances of us together - yellow Like the oleander, thespesia and laburnum - I let them burn, and lend themselves to the ash. They scatter as the rising wind whistles, playing Chinese whispers with the fresh-leaved trees; The dust has a new smell: rain at last, rain at last! This is one half of a tapestry poem with Shernaz Wadia, first published at RateMyLiterature.com and republished at tapestrypoetry.webs.com . View the full tapestry here . What is tapestry poetry?
The message is supreme;
Born in the heart,
and lilting itself
from tongue to tongue,
throwing its scent
over wind and wave;
travelling on dots
or fingers
when blindness
or silence bar its way.
It hews itself into stone
or burns itself onto magnetic discs;
it is the message that lives
and I exist
solely to pass it on.