You were
Unexpected;
You fell on hard
Like a squall.
You took everything
Short of all
And, in ten seconds,
Whipped it to a whirlwind;
You tooled it to a tailspin
And faked my death,
Pulled the breath from my lungs.
You spun me ‘round
And pinned me down
To the corners of my sheets;
In my chest and since, I’ve ten
Missed beats for each eleventh one.
As with a ladder, I race the rungs
From dungeon to fearful sun,
For open air—
And you are there.
Behind and before me,
Everywhere I look,
Your whispering brown eyes
Levitate me
Above the lies and crooks
Of Heart;
You reach in to set me free.
You elevate me
Into skies unknown,
Across starfields
I’ve not yet
Flown.
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Poetry/Randomness: The Poet: A Community Interaction
https://windstrewn.com/2017/06/24/the-poet-a-community-interaction/
BEAUTIFUL?
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Perhaps a question only you can answer, Humble…
Thank you for reading me!
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Lovely. I like the format – the way the smooth wave of the lines, and the way they break into a ladder effect, then sweep smoothly away. It’s very effective.
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You have an almost unfairly intuitive eye for observation, Jane…I’ve come to thoroughly enjoy being on the receiving end of you picking a piece to pieces…
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You flatter me… even as you seem to suggest that I’m being critical. The stepped effect impressed me; there’s a bravery about it. Love is not an entirely smooth curve. I wouldn’t have had the courage to break the comfortable sway of the format, but in doing so you add something to the poem. It’s impressive.
Am I making sense?
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Very much so; in fact, you completely unraveled the intent of format. That’s what’s utterly impressive…and I love it. Though, I must admit, your comment regarding the smoothness of love…well, that’s all yours and it’s freakin’ sublime. I have countless pieces that, for years, have hidden many secrets, both in the way of words or in the lay of the page. I suspect of poets in general: there’s something in us that both quietly strives to say, without saying it, what we would outright struggle to say and, at the same time, wants so deeply to have what we didn’t say be heard. For a poet, this is a beautiful torment…
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Show, don’t tell… I spent 20 years having to c.l.e.a.r.l.y spell out everything I had to say in order not to be deliberately misunderstood, so when I began posting poetry I was very blunt. I wanted to make sure I was understood, and I had no qualms about openness. The only thing that worried me was offending my readers. Relearning subtlety has been, and still is, an exciting journey for me. It’s easier now that I’m less angry.
There are drawbacks to blogging. While it gets our work out there, readers are often in a rush to get through each post in order to reach the next. We overstretch ourselves, and much of what we read may be for the sake of etiquette, rather than enrichment or pleasure. Few people notice deeper meanings. Maybe that’s why mediocre poetry is often so popular – speaking of which, I’m thinking of experimenting with a new blog, to see if my theory is right. It would be full of poems like this:
i love the way you kiss me
the way you hold me too
if you should walk away from me
I don’t know what i’d do
i think i’d lose my appetite
and cry the whole night through
i’d never take another
‘cos all I’d want is you
Waddaya think? It only took me a coupla minutes to write. Ain’t I clever?
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I think you’d be quite surprised how well your new blog would do! Ha!
I tremble my way up the stairs,
Knowing your sleep enfolds you there,
Wanting to wake you unto my cares
And bathe my worries in your stare.
For the rose is red, the bonnet blue,
The nightshade poisonously pink;
I’d make a wreath of all for you,
And petal the path for what you think.
My two cents!
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You’ve been hiding your bushel under a light, but I think I win – I reckon my poem’s worse than yours.
I hope you know we’re in danger of losing our credibility.
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Ah, but I invoked the horrendous, nails-on-a-chalkboard ‘roses are red’ cliche! Surely I get lack-of-style points for that?
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OK, we’ll call it a draw. There’s very little talent in either of the poems. I’ve been coming up with alternative last lines: ‘and drown you in the sink, or ‘I’m drunker than you think’.
I must stop this. If the wind changes I may get stuck with writing trash for the rest of life.
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Ha! I like your last lines better! Yeah…we should stop…
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I’ve got the answer – I’ll go to bed. it’s after 4 am anyway.
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Sleep well, Jane! Between us, we got the uneasy ocean. Why couldn’t we share the placidity of the Pacific?
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This is brilliant…like the stairs in open air.
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Thank you, WD! This was a totally spontaneous piece…in moments, this is what I had on screen. I don’t keep every such fly-away, but decided to keep this one. I’m happy you enjoyed it…
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