As the others explored the docking station, Von sat with Zoe, holding his grandson. For the longest time no words were spoken. A clock ticked. A chair rocked. And smiles were as suns.
Old light, sterling pinpricks in indigo
patterns known by others
and told to me
I gaze up as from a well
tight my thoughts
within stone wet walls
The breeze blows in cool wisps
though a train had passed
and I feel the hollowness
of standing alone
the stars, the station and I
Outside I feel alive
with each breath I take
the trees as my witness
or so the murmurs state
I feel at home
outside my house
a stranger in my yard;
and I feel a warmth
under the melanic sky
matched not by ovens baked
I ponder my life, as I have done before
and the still pond ripples
no more
dreams of slipping, come to fore
my deck my board
I step upon
comfort in a squeak
alone I'm not
in my disrepair
Not of compass lost
nor of map
I would gladly trade them both
to hold the heart
that once held me
Epithets through brittle smile
a heart I hardly recognize
there was a boy
I swear there was
He would have stood
beside me silent
for as long as I would have asked
bangs and ears
an easy smile
I wish him well
wherever he is
and hope he is home
I'd like to see him again
and upon Sirius I pray
he wants to see me too
6 comments:
The Way It Goes
The Moon's void of course
And Mars is not my home now
That I have lost all.
Exiled from Earth and from Mars
With no funds, can't buy back in.
I'm on a slave boat
On contract to the outer
Cloud mining comets.
Christopher, I love the way your mind works. Beautiful and evocative poem. Excellent work.
Whew! Zoe & baby are alive!
I gaze up as from a well
tight my thoughts
within stone wet walls
Beautiful metaphor that!
Thank you Mona. I feel like that more days than not.
The summer of Blenheim, a cow and a heart op, I met my brother's daughter's daughter. I held a child he would never see, a part of him born after his passing. His child a mother, the child he had known no more, life and time had moved on without him and here was the summit of that understanding.
I am reminded of those feelings as I try to imagine the beginnings of what must be in Von's heart. To sit with his grandson, as once he sat with his son, the miracle of creation, the bonds of blood, lineage, the circle of life, past and present, fatherly love, to know that his heart has felt the joy, that he has had the privilege, been blessed to have held his new-born son, to hold now his grandson, and his son will never know, never have that, never feel what Von felt. Knew we, had we heard nothing of this father/son relationship, it would in itself be incredibly poignant thought, but knowing, knowing something of Von, having seen his image as Zoe spoke, having seen him on his knees embracing holographic words, and there are dozens of other chapters that impact upon this one, right from Papa's embrace of Von and Zoe's recollections as told to Von, through chapters of Von with others, particularly Kyra, to recent chapters such as the one where he sat upon the bench inthe gardens, all of them are remembered in these opening words, only to be somewhat forgotten again as one starts to read the poem itself, as the poem fills every corner.
Your first line reminds me of the reason why I was able to get through The Border Trilogy (which though worth reading were nothing like The Road), a hundred pages read for a sentence like this one, but they were there. Gracefully poetic, this line is in a league of its own, in an I want to paint the words on canvas and display them on my wall kind way, enormously enchanting...
That my poems touch you so, Ms Storm, amazes me and I wonder what that must be like, to be so touched by a few words. I envy you that. You have something I long to have.
All I got to say is, thank God for CNN. :-D
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