On a whim I can fly
In a dream,
For it seems,
I can soar on wings
Of ethereal things,
Be a flight so real
The ascent I can feel…
As I ride the wind
I hear Zephyr sing,
Yet cannot tell
If this means ’tis hell,
As suffered Phoenix
When rashly he’d fly
So high he did fry,
Which I’ll not risk
Soaring so fixed,
For be in a dream I fly…
Now on billowy clouds
Soft feathery things,
Their gentle pull bides
The while one clings,
To this surreal ride
Said fabric for dreams,
That dresses the skies
In clouds made for dreaming!
Poetry on a Canapé 
Love this one. Yes, how we curtail our own freedom for fear of being burned or falling too hard. You have such a truly lovely way with words and capturing the emotion of the piece. Wonderful.
Why thank you dear lady. It is such a treat to receive a critique from someone who can depict the subtleties of an abstract picture whose colours are composed of mere words. Let me tell you my very dear friend, that you are rare indeed. I do receive a lot of very good, and very nice comments, but this is to the core, and wonderfully right on the mark. Again I thank you for that, Paulette.
I love it!
Jean-Jacques
I appreciate what you wrote. If one truly understands that the word is never the thing, but mere representations, pointers, then imagery conjured from words take on a different flavor, perhaps even opening the reader to the energy portrayed by the heart. Does something resonate emotionally, authentically or is it vapid? The cells of the body are wise and discernment does not just rest with the matter between ones ears. Just my humble blah blah for what it’s worth. It is lovely to chat, where there is meaning. And, heart. Your friend, Paulette
My kind of blah blah, my friend…JJ