Some days
better to keep
the ink
in the well
For the piffle
that gets scribbled
sins against
ink and paper alike
My apologies
to both
and all the hands
I've dishonored
for what does
one thing touch
that does not touch
another
Tell me
if you know
can I touch you
and not touch
the world
better to keep
the ink
in the well
For the piffle
that gets scribbled
sins against
ink and paper alike
My apologies
to both
and all the hands
I've dishonored
for what does
one thing touch
that does not touch
another
Tell me
if you know
can I touch you
and not touch
the world
7 comments:
You cannot, for a bottomless well of reasons.
This poem makes perfect sense and is B.S. at the same time. Trée George may or may not be recognized for the artist that he is during his lifetime, but neither may I. Recognition or not, and trust me, it is hard to receive recognition when one is anonymous, I have experienced a great thrill to share work and reactions with someone I deem sometimes on my level, sometimes below, and sometimes far above. It's the living for me that makes the poetry, not as much for the poetry that I live although life IS poetry! Trée, I apologize for pissing you off. I will be offline for a little while, but I will sign on again later to see if you have forgiven me and would consider further professional discussion. Regards to all. ;-)
Strawberry seeds get stuck in the teeth, pried orange peels get stuck under the nails. Have a good night, Trée. =)
Lucila, nothing to apologize for. I've been in a horrific mood all day and my curt responses reflect on me, not you. I should have simply stayed offline today and held back all I posted for further review. But, it is what it is and what is posted is posted. So, let me say again, you didn't piss me off. I've been rather short with everyone today. I just didn't treat you any differently. :-)
Great! I'd rather be wrong than you be pissed. :-)
In regards to your writing, the only 'sin' is obstruction, or to put it more simply some days the ink does not flow freely from heart, but even in the haphazard bleeding, the strained stains, the ink is true and all truth is worthy of paper. Of ears. Ripples regardless, better stormy than none.
I'll take your word for it. :-)
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