COMMENTS
weak moments... If we could trade them for cookies.. Perhaps we could start a bakery. (or just eat them all)
Hunger doesn't know rain. A man with a pack on his back limped in after the young couple who sat quietly in the lobby, tapping their feet in the puddles that formed around their soles.
No i.d.
No home.
Just a story that wraps around the room and gets us nowhere. But it's dry inside and the air smells of microwave popcorn. They answer a few questions and I know.
Like a gypsy who peers into tea leaves
And finds your future in the dregs,
I can read hunger.
It lives in the eyes and the angle of the jaw,
Summoning me by name in a shifting posture,
Calling me to see.
Dignity counsels me to feign hunger, to invite them to share in a lunch I didn't need. Shy handfuls of crackers, MRE cheese and peanut butter. So gracious at my insistence that I not seem rude eating in front of them. We snacked and drank tea through a short interview that told me less than Hunger ever will, Hunger who travels on gestures and whispers from creases that frame the eyes.
Hunger doesn't know rain
Where there are miles to mark,
When day and night are equally dark,
And home is the lonely whistle
Of a mythical, faraway train.
Still here, the man with the pack on his back, brushing rain from his face while he stands in place
Looking strong and steady, lost already, and I know before he blinks it away.
Hunger has been his companion today.
COMMENTS
You have the talent for drawing us to where you are feeling these words.
You where the ground
Rests heavy on your chest,
And me, life-bound,
Drunk with sound
And new hope found.
That part made my breath catch in my throat, it is amazing. I felt this poem, I didn't see the words, I felt it and breathed it.
Fly to the sun, Vespers
Soar and scorch a wing -
Fall to the earth. Bleed.
But, please God, sing.
Sing to the south wind
You, the willow reed.
Weep where you have sinned,
Grief arched above the sea,
A brackish sea of all you've freed.
I am the tears you ached into me -
Time to trust, time to shake.
Free fall, baptize your need.
Swim to the moon, Vespers
Breathe. Drown. Oh, Venus, awake.
COMMENTS
Amazing. This one left me wide-eyed in wonderment.
With all of this everything happening right now, right here inside of me, I couldn't help but cry when I read this.
A lump the size of a plum is making my throat ache.
Your words never fail to astound me.
Eloquence escapes me. Tears flow freely. You're writing is awe inspiring.
COMMENTS
You never seem to lose your talent for writing thoughts, perhaps not always yours to write. Perhaps yours more than anyone's and still mine, almost to my surprise.
..alchemy, at it's finest.
You evoke so many feelings. A lady with secrets indeed.
Such delicacy with words and alluring with it.
HELLO THIS IS A COMMENT.
I meant to comment this but my painting swallowed me up. It is truly beautiful, you really do make the english language your bitch;)
I can’t lift my feet.
A calm falls over me
Like the face of a man
Who is nearly done choking,
Like the hands of a man
Who is nearly done drowning.
Close my lids
So my eyes can move,
Moving on primal grids
And tell me a story
Of the man who
Flew too
Close to the sun.
And I wonder…
In that moment,
Did he swallow the sun
And learn how to live?
In this moment, can you follow
The arrows
On the road to forgive?
At any cost to me
At any cost to me
And I wonder…
Why can’t I fly?
I’m so weighed down to earth
Where I live out my days
I’m free to fly clear from earth
In dozens of ways.
Icarus falling with wings,
Wax covered feathers
And magical things.
Oh, let me dream
Through your nightmare scream
And I wonder…
Why can’t I fly?
COMMENTS
I had to sit and whisper this to myself several times. The broken lines make me feel a mixture of urgency, frustration and at the same time a gentle plaintiveness. I wish I could put across feelings in words better because I am struggling to find the right way to describe how this poem makes me feel. Be assured though that I like it a lot:)
Look; in order to maintain air-speed velocity an unladen swallow has to beat it's wings 235 times every second...
COMMENTS
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Irony
13:17 Aug 27 2008
You make the hair all over my body stand up when you write out the images that have been in my dreams so long. I wonder how many others are sitting and thinking "This poetry is for me, it is mine."
Lordpeace
07:37 Oct 10 2008
i am not worthy