You call to show me your multiple wounds, the pain caused by others, the immoral and ignoble harm far from your own old firm models. I can’t embrace you, and the world is at war. Words are like rafts that castaways launch with grins and blind wishes. And they hope the journey is short, and they hope there is no storm. But the sea, like life itself, doesn’t wait or listen to complaints or excuses, just breaks without looking twice against the rocks. Barefoot under the bridge pillars I see some tears flowing down, the murmurs of anonymous chants towards another border. Life is not as I used to think and I review the rivers of ink, the fantastic equations engraved in the stone skin. But the mist remains floating wondering where Buckley went like the names of shadows that sail over these waters. There as well go down my stripped naked words, a corps of tree discards that swim by all means in search of iambic pulses where to revive, go inland and close the eyes – with no more script than to forget everything – and let oneself be carried away, open up from the root drowned until ascending to the sun, be the same right then or a new one. Will the wind of your voice reach this shore of surrender once in a lifetime
And suddenly, I wondered if you are also a musician.
Your poetry has a musicality to it.
I understand the painfulness being relayed here: “drowned until ascending to the sun,
be the same right then or a new one.”
Excuse a dumb question. I do not understand this reference. Was this a real person that was lost? Forgive me for asking, but it’s my favorite stanza. But, the mist floating and wondering is very striking to me.
“But the mist remains floating
wondering where Buckley went
like the names of shadows
that sail over these waters.”
I enjoy your writing. I will be around again and I will share this poem. Thank you.
Thank you for clearing that up for me. I wasn't familiar with him. I just read about his death a moment ago. I am sorry for the world to lose a beautiful soul and musician. It is a haunting verse, indeed.
Tidal waves words that count the times that they touch the shore. First of your poems read. Power in the flow of energy to reach and wrap around my legs as as I stand at the waters edge.
“But the sea, like life itself,
doesn’t wait or listen to complaints or excuses,
just breaks without looking twice
against the rocks.”
That’s exactly like the sea.
Your poetry is beautiful. Are you a musician?
That last line
“Will the wind of your voice
reach this shore of surrender
once
in a lifetime”
Reminds me of something I wrote once which said:
“While voices wisp as whispering words
All rushing by your ears
May you select a minor third
To keep from what you hear”
And suddenly, I wondered if you are also a musician.
Your poetry has a musicality to it.
I understand the painfulness being relayed here: “drowned until ascending to the sun,
be the same right then or a new one.”
Excuse a dumb question. I do not understand this reference. Was this a real person that was lost? Forgive me for asking, but it’s my favorite stanza. But, the mist floating and wondering is very striking to me.
“But the mist remains floating
wondering where Buckley went
like the names of shadows
that sail over these waters.”
I enjoy your writing. I will be around again and I will share this poem. Thank you.
Sorry, I missed the answer of musicianship. I'm an amateur singer, song-writer. The reference is to Jeff Buckley.
Thank you for clearing that up for me. I wasn't familiar with him. I just read about his death a moment ago. I am sorry for the world to lose a beautiful soul and musician. It is a haunting verse, indeed.
Thanks for your feedback. I'm really blessed if you like it. I'll go for your poem.
Tidal waves words that count the times that they touch the shore. First of your poems read. Power in the flow of energy to reach and wrap around my legs as as I stand at the waters edge.
Very kind, I hope you enjoy!