Is there a joy geneAm I missing it
When all my smiles
seem like glass
and my cheeks as marble
Is there a pathway
of neurons not firing
a gray forest, ash and cinder
within my brain
Of a land not habited
places dark and dead
the view from my window
the view not wed
Has my ticket of hugs
been punched and used
Am I standing on the train
unaware
watching and hearing
a click and a clack
I will never know
Does the flutter of feathers
and the building of spring
sing a song to my deaf ears
as the flower goes about
the business
of swaying its sprout
Words are hurled
rocks they feel
to a place where advil
has no deal
and what aches
cannot be healed
So the wind blows
in gusts and spates
and my shutters squawk
their disrepair
gutters creaking and leaking
my hands neglect
As the shy sun
peeks a look
bashful to know
a pain beyond reach
caught in the arc
of business as usual
And feet walk on toes and tips
as hands swim the mood
and noses snuffle for hope
a drifting it seems
an outgoing tide
away goes our flower
waving goodbye
6 comments:
Before the last word of the second stanza, this poem pierced and plunged, embedded itself for its simplicity and sincerity, its style and timbre, the voice within and the voice without (its affect), the following stanzas confirmed, cemented, the praise. Intensely poignant, quietly sorrowful, the words are less like confidences, thoughts confided, than an incessant, intimate ocean of torment where the arrival of others so to speak was unintentional, in other words, bare, sheer, immersed. And this writing is too expressive and touching to make do with tired eyes, and so once again I give thanks that there is a tomorrow in which to remedy tasks left undone today. Bless your heart, H
I've had days like that....
I swear, every post you write ought to be a class in college - there is so much to dissect and enjoy and marvel over !
Annie, you are very kind. Thank you.
Ms Storm, hope you feel better soon. Sweet dreams. :-)
For every time that I read this poem, streamlined becomes everything that I could say. This poem is absolutely sublime. As Annie said, more than poetry class worthy, worthy as example of, definition of, expression, sentiment, fluidity between thought and voice, passage between heart of writer and heart of reader, words are absorbed, simultaneous wonder for expressiveness, of mind (word) and heart. Exquisite. Lost for words. Still and again. They will come and they will be here when they do. Wowed, utterly, completely, infinitely.
Come sit at my knee and I will sing you a song, the birds my command, the sky my lord. :-)
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