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photosynthesis
| Open Poetry #6 |
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photosynthesis |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855
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This soil bears your footprints And basins where you knelt. (you can see earthworm tips and green plant bits and roots and crumbles) Each flower is a word you said Thirsting for the sunlight, Turning colorless with wilt. What I have of you is a photo And my synthesizer. Remember how I used to float and dip My hands so effortlessly to play you music? It was all a lie. It took me eleven and a half years To appear to have been born with a gift. And our gift together, which appeared even stronger, Died in the frantic lift and fall of 730 suns. That's it. That first kiss we shared Under the dark of the silver oak, Little fingers of leaves rustling in santa monica seabreeze -- That was T-minus 730. Hours of phone calls -- who knows how many cold, wet coins clutched in the rain and pushed into the slot to hear your voice. T-minus 700. The time we spent baking cookies (my excuses at my ineptness as raw -- and hopefully tasty to you -- as the chocolate drop dough) T-minus 500. (your mom came in and talked with careful eyes placing blame everywhere you weren't, that's why) More kisses. More this that and other. More yes no maybe okay no thanks yes please all right it's not okay thank you i hate you f___ you no not really. T-minus 30 was the worst of all. I remember it storming outside, the violent, dry sky suddenly wet with rain and electricity. How the bolt shot right into a tree out the window and there was a quick, blue glow, and then black charred wood splitting dryly like the sky. That's my imagination. But that's how the phone call went. Couldn't even face me in person. Then our fumbling attempts at regaining friendship -- ash cocktail, extra salt. Still, I know it's not your fault. So I'll sit out here for a while, under the transplanted sun of living 3,000 miles away from where I was born. And here, alone, belong. |
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netswan Senior Member
since 2000-03-28
Posts 1369Washington |
What a great analogy, Squirrel. I could fill the cold wet coins. Thanks for sharing -- You are not alone. Warm Regards, Teresa King |
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netswan Senior Member
since 2000-03-28
Posts 1369Washington |
What a great analogy, Squirrel. I could feel the cold wet coins. Thanks for sharing -- You are not alone. Warm Regards, Teresa King |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
That's it. That first kiss we shared Under the dark of the silver oak, Little fingers of leaves rustling in santa monica seabreeze -- That was T-minus 730. Hours of phone calls -- who knows how many cold, wet coins clutched in the rain and pushed into the slot to hear your voice. T-minus 700. The time we spent baking cookies (my excuses at my ineptness as raw -- and hopefully tasty to you -- as the chocolate drop dough) T-minus 500. (your mom came in and talked with careful eyes placing blame everywhere you weren't, that's why) ------------------ T-minus 30 was the worst of all. I remember it storming outside, the violent, dry sky suddenly wet with rain and electricity. How the bolt shot right into a tree out the window and there was a quick, blue glow, and then black charred wood splitting dryly like the sky. That's my imagination. But that's how the phone call went. Couldn't even face me in person. Then our fumbling attempts at regaining friendship -- ash cocktail, extra salt. Still, I know it's not your fault. So I'll sit out here for a while, under the transplanted sun of living 3,000 miles away from where I was born. And here, alone, belong. ------------- ok... damn... so... I truly dont know where to start with this one... I think my awe of it really takes my words. (words now returning after another read)  To say the metaphors are of perfection seems redundant, or perhaps unnecessary...as they reach out and either slap or kiss the reader...take your pick (smile) and the anology of the years counting off is brilliant... and as always there are your emotions so quietly lying there at the edges...which is my most fav thing about your poetry... sometimes it actually scares me how much I relate to them.*S* very cool piece of work BSQ... jm Well the sun sets gently on your shoulders And it makes me want to touch you there. And the light in your eyes makes me feel Like there's something much better out there Something kind... And I know someday I might be looking around Trying to find some purpose Well purpose it can't be that hard to find As long as I've got the wind... The wind and your love to carry me. vertical horizon |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
Now you've gone and broke my heart. This is SO sad, and I feel...so... Oh, I guess that was the point...Ouch, Mike. |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855 |
netswan, Cool name. Thanks for reading. And I don't think I'm alone, just in waiting. JM, C'mon, it's not THAT good.  Seriously, I'm glad you enjoy my work, but please don't worship it. Admire the craft, sure; but once you place it above and beyond just words assembled together, the poem is no longer something immediate and relevant, but timeless -- something to be viewed at your leisure under glass or hanging on a gallery wall; impact all but gone. That's a great fate for poetry after the poet is dead. But living, it saps any and all experiments, permutations, feelings a poet might try to express, and sticks it all into the dreaded category of "Wow, I could never match this!" Still, glad you enjoyed. S, I think of this more as bittersweet than outright sad. Maybe I've just weathered the emotions so much in me that it doesn't affect me anymore. Thanks all, for reading, and responding. Mike |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
BSQ, I understand what your saying here, as always words of poetic wisdom, but I'd like to disagree...at least for MY reading of poetry. Perhaps I do "worship" poetry...I know that when I read ones that effect me, I am taken with them or by them.I love poetry and the way it makes me feel. I cant speak for anyone else...but it does not lose its impact for me. A favorite poem read over and over for years...effects me the same as the first read. Thats just the way I love poetry. Thats just me... often over-emotional about it...definatly. I will try to behave myself when reading and replying to yours...(smile) I would never wish to impune creativity or to put you in the before mentioned "cant top this category"...though why YOU would worry escapes me thanks for the advice...even if my poets heart wont take it. *S* later gator, jm |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855 |
JM, That's fine -- and eloquently put. Well, you already read my response to your e-mail, so you know no harm done. As always, thanks for reading, responding, and other r words.'night. Mike |
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INclan Senior Member
since 1999-07-20
Posts 1024Indiana, USA |
Mike, I can not add to previous comments of praise. I think the work is outstanding. Using the "count down" was a great inspiration. As I read through the responses, my pressing question was answered. I am sorry that there is a basis for the poem, in real life. Hang in there man, you have a lot of friends here. INclan |
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