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 AUTHOR
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 726
Snapshot: Nov. 24, 2009 Page 30 of 52    (12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52)

The image is there
rubbing shoulders with the flashbacks
reliving each moment as though it was the last
because it could be
yet as you left me this morning
traced my cheek first with your lips
then your fingertips
there was a promise
You will be here tonight with me
and the fleeting imagery will meld into dreams
that will be my reality
unless you say differently


Is it something in the water that both you and 60 left such bittersweet poems? How spontaneous yours is, as are virtually all your recent poems, how free your heart is to speak in the presence of we fortunate eavesdroppers.

Bisous X 2
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 727
Snapshot: Nov. 24, 2009
Posted: 11/25/2009 7:38:53 AM

Each, every, some, all men
visiting my life...
few, left any impression.
I have not forgotten you.
With a tickle your smile left me wordless.
I could not point towards the sun, I knew not the moon.

Your hair strayed, you hated this..
across your forehead, your body
achieved the perfection named symmetry
Leaving was easy, I did not leave bitter
When asked, I replied, "I liked his smile."
Never mind the sorry details.


The last two lines, of course, are the unexpected killers. It's the sort of poem that, when we are at the movies, we want to call out STOP! as the heroine is about to open the door behind which lurks...

And as I said of Pickles poem, there is such freedom of your heart to speak so truthfully and without any (so far as I could tell) calculated effects.
 pickles51
Joined: 9/22/2008
Msg: 728
view profile
History
Snapshot: Nov. 24, 2009
Posted: 11/26/2009 7:26:39 PM

How spontaneous yours is, as are virtually all your recent poems, how free your heart is to speak in the presence of we fortunate eavesdroppers.


Jer, thank you

 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 729
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/4/2009 6:20:20 AM
One man wrote because his heart was broken
and he hoped to mend it, a little,
by crying out injustice and his
intolerable pain.

Another man wrote
about joy, transcendence, love,
which he wanted to make a gift of
to all the world, but

it was the same man,
writing the same poem.
 60to70
Joined: 7/28/2008
Msg: 730
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/4/2009 10:14:22 PM
Squirrel jumped into the sky, no, the tree.
Ambulance screeeeeched by
That one looked at that one
commented to the other...stupidity
One looked at the sky, at the level inhabited
went back to the history of the Greeks
waltzed around the block, opened the door
I am moderate, I am the key
the other shrugged, rolled maybe his eyes
looked again at the sky
with resignation, what was held
is meant for release. then gusto into waiting hands
squalling, bloody, wet, hot infant with supreme effronty
chose to arrive!
Yes, C'est La Vie.
 pickles51
Joined: 9/22/2008
Msg: 731
view profile
History
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/5/2009 6:21:48 AM
You have just given me
twenty four reasons to love you
there is a problem
I have a garden full of love
and cannot ration it
so if I pull the roses apart
wrap myself in their petals
I will have
many more reasons
to love you
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 732
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/5/2009 7:13:32 AM

You have just given me
twenty four reasons to love you
there is a problem
I have a garden full of love
and cannot ration it
so if I pull the roses apart
wrap myself in their petals
I will have
many more reasons
to love you


24 reasons, as in one for every hour of the day? What a loving, flowing declaration!
 pickles51
Joined: 9/22/2008
Msg: 733
view profile
History
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/5/2009 10:48:48 AM
Actually Jer it was 2 doz red roses...but I like that association very much!
C
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 734
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/5/2009 11:51:36 AM

Actually Jer it was 2 doz red roses...but I like that association very much!


Round here 2 doz roses (red, yellow, hot pink) = 24!
 60to70
Joined: 7/28/2008
Msg: 735
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/6/2009 8:17:50 PM
I am so crabby, if I ever prayed
sentence this disenchantment to another way
feeling has its virtues, has its presence
If I could, I would swipe with force to another universe
tangles, jumbles, trebles of probable nothingness...

If ever I prayed
out of my side eye
this emerged
phantom of my youth
slice of delight
taste of my desire
nothing hard to imagine
delight, sweet delight, this is welcoming
all moments that may come.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 736
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/7/2009 6:30:06 AM

I am so crabby, if I ever prayed
sentence this disenchantment to another way
feeling has its virtues, has its presence
If I could, I would swipe with force to another universe
tangles, jumbles, trebles of probable nothingness...

If ever I prayed
out of my side eye
this emerged
phantom of my youth
slice of delight
taste of my desire
nothing hard to imagine
delight, sweet delight, this is welcoming
all moments that may come.


Magnificent! even though "trebles of probable nothingness..." reminds me somewhat of the maddening experience I recently had reading Rivka Galchen's Atmospheric Disturbances , which I must go and read some reviews of it now, to see if they might make clear to me what I missed...
 60to70
Joined: 7/28/2008
Msg: 737
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/8/2009 10:28:54 PM
Oh boy jeez Jerry, I think your supportive words are like a blanket against the nihilism. Thank-you for your threads and for being Jerry. I think I would have liked you as a child and I certainly appreciate you in these adult guises we now inhabit. Yep.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 738
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/9/2009 11:48:36 AM
I love your reference to "these adult guises we now inhabit. Yep." I wrote a poem ages ago that begins:


Who first invented that fiction, "Adulthood"?
What does it mean?


Do please let me know when you figure out what being an "adult" really means...although I guess your thread about "Wisdom" is your attempt to do just that, with help from others.
 60to70
Joined: 7/28/2008
Msg: 739
One man wrote...
Posted: 12/11/2009 9:15:28 PM
One fine , crazy adult I met who I totally considered an adult said to me.."is it not funny that you react as a child in immense moments." Children do not have the experience to deal with immense moments. Children are the beginning of a work of art, adults are in the process of becoming a work of art. And if you do believe that life is a work of art, you are alien and deny the wonder.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 740
December 28, 09.
Posted: 12/28/2009 11:36:22 AM
I sent a love-letter
this morning to one of my sons
and I thought How pleased
he will be to get it,

and I thought
how pleased I was to write it to him.
 pickles51
Joined: 9/22/2008
Msg: 741
view profile
History
December 28, 09.
Posted: 12/29/2009 7:38:43 PM
I sang to her a lullaby
softly
the words wrapped around her
swaddled her
then I realised
as she said
I love you Mummy
she was singing to me
a lullaby
softly.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 742
December 28, 09.
Posted: 1/1/2010 7:24:19 AM

I sang to her a lullaby
softly
the words wrapped around her
swaddled her
then I realised
as she said
I love you Mummy
she was singing to me
a lullaby
softly


How gentle, how tender. Thank you.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 743
What can we do for the broken child?
Posted: 1/8/2010 6:44:19 AM
Hold her with tenderness
and with respect.

Sing to her of our own
former distress,

offer her the wholeness,
the love and the strength
we almost forgot we possess.

And that’s what the broken child
can do for us.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 744
Snapshot: Jan. 8, 2010
Posted: 1/8/2010 11:58:12 AM
At the café a person
with a preposterous nose,
a nose that was like
an entire comedy routine,
aimed that nose
at the newspaper he was reading,
which lay docile, subdued
on the table in front of him
 60to70
Joined: 7/28/2008
Msg: 745
Snapshot: Jan. 8, 2010
Posted: 1/8/2010 10:49:41 PM
Nobody sat in any chair, like you sat..silent
Your nose curved into the space between the both
of us..I knew your history
With gentleness, I respect all, heavy distances
Your nose curved this path into my heart.

When you were young I would have played with you.
I may have slapped the tragedy coming your way.
Could not, does not matter...each sunrise, each time you die
I respect each, every, soft curve of your nose.
reminding, reminding, I will fail, you did.

Come, let us be children
What you could not face. I reluctantly embraced.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 746
Snapshot: Jan. 8, 2010
Posted: 1/9/2010 6:36:40 AM

Nobody sat in any chair, like you sat..silent
Your nose curved into the space between the both
of us..I knew your history
With gentleness, I respect all, heavy distances
Your nose curved this path into my heart.

When you were young I would have played with you.
I may have slapped the tragedy coming your way.
Could not, does not matter...each sunrise, each time you die
I respect each, every, soft curve of your nose.
reminding, reminding, I will fail, you did.

Come, let us be children
What you could not face. I reluctantly embraced.


How splendid overall, how effortless you make this seem, and perhaps it was: perhaps your breath has become attuned to speaking in such spontaneously elegant line.

I especially value:


I respect each, every, soft curve of your nose.
reminding, reminding, I will fail, you did.

Come, let us be children
What you could not face. I reluctantly embraced.


"I will fail, you did" - how courageous, how powerful a recognition of our common humanity.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 747
Haiti, 2010: “To Them That Hath...”
Posted: 1/14/2010 6:17:43 AM
We will mingle with God
in the devastation that is Haiti.
We will read the anti-Bible
in the ruined faces,
the bodies in their awkward postures.
Auschwitz in just a few moments,
Dachau piled upon Bergen-Belsen.
The them that hath
poverty shall be given
despair.
 60to70
Joined: 7/28/2008
Msg: 748
Haiti, 2010: “To Them That Hath...”
Posted: 1/14/2010 10:31:34 PM
I will take some sort of prayer
to hold infants, lost sisters, brothers
aaaaay...my mother, my father
I will abandon my freakishness
to reach towards you my hand.

Never has the silence ever reckoned
with loss so magnificent, so tragic
on my very knees, can I say?
If I could pray...give me your sorrow.

In some kind of end, we gather
to hold ..what is beyond comprehension.
Let me stand. let me be what holds you.
 Alyosha
Joined: 10/29/2007
Msg: 749
Haiti, 2010: “To Them That Hath...”
Posted: 1/15/2010 7:04:57 AM

I will take some sort of prayer
to hold infants, lost sisters, brothers
aaaaay...my mother, my father
I will abandon my freakishness
to reach towards you my hand.

Never has the silence ever reckoned
with loss so magnificent, so tragic
on my very knees, can I say?
If I could pray...give me your sorrow.

In some kind of end, we gather
to hold ..what is beyond comprehension.
Let me stand. let me be what holds you.


the whole of this is so sincere. so deep in its empathy, but the offer to abandon your "freakishness" struck me as an especial example of - albeit humorous - humility!
 climber83
Joined: 12/23/2009
Msg: 750
Auguries of Innocence- William Blake
Posted: 1/15/2010 7:44:32 AM
Hello Ayosha, this poem is a new discovery of mine and I wanted to post it somewhere. It just make sense to put it here, hope you don't mind.
I wanted to cut it down but the pieces aren't the same as the whole-

Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer wandering here and there
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so:
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright
And returned to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mocked in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
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