And Suddenly

You asked for a poem and suddenly

my mind is empty

–something

I’ve been trying to do for years–

I ought to at least

thank you for that.

(Yes, I see the tall rocks pushing up from the ground

against the backdrop of snow

and spring, buried beneath the cold foot of winter.

Yes, I remember the same hills in early summer,

nodding in wild flowers

swelling with colourful suggestion.

Alongside these images

crowding in

are all the walks

we have not taken,

all the conversations left on the wind

all the secrets embedded in the pale skin of the wakeful moon.

I am distracted.)

Summer will come, my pen,

Fall will surely sweep away the ideas of

This, Not This.

Winter will come over a curved hill

and nestle in

against the warm breast of October,

against the murmuring voices

of change

and I, who have been silent

will be drowning you in words,

building dreamscapes--

open places for your

images to appear.

Comments

[dale]

Sorry. Didn't mean the intention was flirtatious -- if it were, the effect would be considerably less so :-)

[lekshe]

it didn't feel flirtish to me. a friend asked me to write a poem, and this was my experience. it didn't ask for anything, didn't mean to speak to anyone except the space inside my study. whirlwinds, well yeah.. don't we all?

[dale]

Ay, you are such a flirt. Your poetry goes sidling up to all kinds of people, cadging drinks and inspiring wild hopes, whirlwinds of anxiety and desire, quick to rise, quick to fall, and then suddenly we're sober and alone, and very very old. But not tired.

"Their eyes, their ancient glittering eyes are gay."

[Peter]

Really stunning. It could come only from you.

What a great definition of good poetry: "dreamscapes - / open places for your /images to appear."

[Abdul-Walid]

How good it is. How terribly right.

(And there you go, oblivious).

[lekshe]

What, VB, what?

[Abdul-Walid]

Oh my God.

OH MY GOD.