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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Natural Love

To be a mendicant
approaching verses shaped and formed
from homeless atoms.
To have binocular eyes
watching the night go past.
Ah…that is good stuff.
That is laughter.
That is a shower of tears inside me.
That is how I suffer and dance,
and become an invisible prayer.
That is what I heard
when my ears were new.
Smelled, when my nose was
a little pug.
When my lips circled words
and blew them in the air.
That is me looking at a cat
searching for a mouse
along a hedge.
Who says cats can’t smile?

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