I walked home
beneath untroubled stars
where trees slept silent, with no reply
to the hoarse voices of reawakening frogs,
their untuned love songs unrequited
by my unmasked whistling
in the dark.
If Northman is being nice, either CJ entered an alternate reality or something very unusual is afoot. Sure the resident CIA agent might spread rumors and misinformation, but Northman being nice would confirm to any watchful observer that CJ’s trip was momentous. It’s not just Northman that should have CJ and Oz twitching; it’s Simmone blatantly pumping and probing for information. Great chapter.
Your poems speak to me and make me hear your voice telling me about the quiet, and that solid, reassuring peace - and about how focusing on perceived flaws can shatter that peace into shards. These lines are spare and beautiful.
It’s nice to see much of the chapter devoted to Nic being able to relax into himself, and to enjoying his friendship with someone. His having to hole up, locked in his room with Joey, is a big fat flashing red light. Blind spot or not, Nic’s mom absolutely has to know. So:next chapter is a storm? Can’t wait for the wind to howl.
This was a lovely Washington interlude. It was nice seeing everyone, if only briefly. So much going on, and there seems to be a continuing theme that Owen and CJ will have to be in different places at different important times in the months to come. That doesn't seem like a happy set of circumstances. I will withhold judgement on Carson's girlfriend. I will need more evidence. Like Owen, I can see that the need to affirm climate change as real seems like an important litmus test. Oh. Just ratted myself out as a tree hugger. Thanks again for a great chapter!
I like this poem. It’s not entirely in a major key, but it’s relative minor passages enhance and enrich it. Thanks you very much for sharing this with us.
You put it very well; perhaps it’s as if our view is slowly fading. You’re right that Pavane should feel like a treasured memory, never to be forgotten. Thank you very much for reading this collection, and for your most kind comments.
Out of the whole collection, the two poems you noted were particular favorites. There is a kind of melancholy air to these. I tried to recall those sunlit pre-pandemic summer days, and with them, a hope for their return. You are so kind with your words, and generous with your talent. Thank you.
You’re very kind in your comments. I’m immensely glad you have enjoyed these dances. As for more poetry, I’m hoping this spring will provide more inspiration.
Cascarda
What I seek
the hand of fate denies,
so subtle humor and secret smiles
that might have beguiled my eyes shine on another,
no less estimable man than I,
nor worthier, but more
fortunate.
I don’t know
the man whose dream I shared
for one brief hour in the summer night;
I woke at dawn unable to recall his name,
yet I swear my fingers knew his skin,
and my tongue still savored
his sal