Sometimes, it seems as if pain or discomfort is a lubricant to poetry. At least it is not a necessary condition. Thank you so much for your kindnesses.
Thank you for taking time with this poem. It is not as sweet or sensuous as some of the others, but its flavors are more complex. I am glad it connected with you.
Thank you for reading this, and for your kind words of support. The hurt and the delight were bound up in one person; my distress unimportant in the big scheme of things. But things don't go as I might want them to, not all the time.
In whose name do they kill, Cows who rejoice in the blood of the proletariat... This is a stunning and powerful indictment, rich in metaphor and scorn. You predict their end, their destruction - and if words could do this, your poem would have accomplished it.
This poem has me thinking of centuries of scholastics arguing fruitless points from texts that had very little basis in reality. And yet, these were powerful minds in their day. What are we to say about our own times, when we allow similar philosophers the same sort of sway today? Your poem reminds us to question. Thank you.
I find this one more than a little chilling, as well as a stirring call. Water cannon needed to both cleanse and quell a riot; old men becoming the armor of the new. I do not fancy my chances in this world of your imagining.
I love the final three lines; ...burnt tortillas on the islands of hypocrisy and fear. This is an image that will stick with me for a long, long, time.
You set the scene so vividly and perfectly. The end of a perfect day of getting projects and work accomplished; soon to be followed by an evening in other pursuits. Thanks so much for reading this poem and for your comments.
Intoxicating, enchanting, stirring - scent can be all those and more. And yet, it is also one of those senses we often forget about, especially in writing. Thank you so much, Lit.
You're so right. Close your eyes, and that essential scent can take you as far as your mind, memory and imagination can go. Thanks for reading this, and for your comment.
I thank you, dear Val. You're right about ignition and smell - just the faintest trace on the air can change your outlook, mend your mood, or send you back in time.
Thank you Val. You're right about the bitter flavors being valuable in combination with others to enhance and deepen our appreciation of the feast. And it never ceases to amaze me that those aspects of ourselves that convey love, also are capable of great harm. I appreciate your reading this one and reflecting on it.
Fingers,
sure, yet trembling,
caress, stroke, tease, excite;
their touch defines our affection
and love;
yet these
elegant digits wrote such words
of deep and lasting scorn
that life sidled
away.
Scent unquestionably alters mind and memory, making imprints and pathways in the brain. Just one hint of that attar and one's spirit lights up. I am glad you liked this; you seem to get my meaning exactly.
You face letting someone go - all the hurt, all the pain, and whatever good there was. You tell it plainly, and eloquently. And now maybe the power he retained is diminished, and the light you offer rises.
Green grass,
golden sunlight,
and the salt scent of work
linger about you at purpled
sunset;
years hence
will these be my fragrance of love,
the sweet, rising incense
from altars of
ardor.