I sit in my room far away from the banks
I notice a beautiful dragon fly landing on a reed
The glossy delicate wings and a hard shelled back
Slick to the touch, cool to the feel, alive

Water gently moving in ebbs and flows
Cool lush growth near the river’s edge
Sun reflecting across the rippling water
So far way from my room high in the city

Over the river, I hear a bird, wind rushing by
High in the sky, alone flies a beautiful bird of prey
Lazily looking for food, drifting with the wind
Such a far distance from my room in the city

Outside my room is the world, the sun shinning hot
I can feel the heat on the brick, the smell of dry mortar
An insect buzzing, motors running, people talking
So far below my room high in the city

To enhance the moment of perception
A quick feel of deep space, far above the atmosphere
No sound, no motion, such a great view of Earth
So far above my body in my room in the city

I reach out with my hand, the river’s too far
I smell with my nose, the air conditioning stifles smell
I look with my eyes, the walls and distance block the view
The body is barricaded inside my room high in the city

My perceptions fly high and far, keener than the body’s
Perceptions not blocked by time and space,
Perceptions blocked only by unawareness
Outside the body, freedom is mine. Sensations abound
The river, the brick, deep space, all mine to taste.
The body is still in my room high in the city.

I fly free, enjoying life, sights and sounds
Such freedom and wonderful sensations when free of a body
I know I’m not my body, locked in my room high in the city
Earth is my play ground of grandeur and magnitude
Free to be perceived and enjoyed because I am free

The body is nothing without me.
I have the personality, the perceptions
The body is just a shell, I am free to perceive
Nothing is barred from me, no sensation can be denied
I am free to create, move, perceive and enjoy life.

The body is still in my room high in the city.

Join me.
The Poet

©2009 Carl Watts www.carlwattsartist.com Edited 5/30/12
River Perceptions
Page created 2/6/09
Since the dawn of time the artist, the writer, the poet, the painter, all have been portraying the spirit as something evil, something to be disdained.
I disagree. My poems are not about the wonders and beauties of bodies but about the wonders and beauties of man, the immortal spirit of man.
Carl the Poet
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