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Poetry Magnum Opus

The Well of Memory


dr_con

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The Well of Memory

 

Voice says

All you are is a well of memory for the gods

Remember the cool water that fed

our roots this world sprouting

branching placing each

and everything just so

just now reminders

we are in one of

possible only

places

 

She said

Write poems about ordinary things

And I grab onto a persistence

may it be old world nostalgia

or a motion of novelty

a skin on skin

familiarity

 

Squirrel sees

Boundless topographic gymnastics

Scrub pines scoff at animal ideas

the stillness as black flies swirl

tieing together emptiness

a shore or edge

a lake serene

 

Is this what I want to come back to?

Punctuated forms

Waiting for a rattle that never happened

A hospital parking lot

dead of night

the entire

cosmos

 

Sobbing

snow falls wind blows without fire or ice

We mouth words taught by the dead

 

He shows

A simpler grammar

his morning routine looking out

 

This yard

This weather

This window

This view

 

In this it

all passion and conflict

have fled

 

I hope they drink deeply

 

All we are

this being this becoming

one tree grows

between

past and

future.

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I've read this at least ten times, Juris. It's one of my favorites, and I relate in an inexplicable sense.

 

... stillness as black flies swirl

tieing together emptiness

a shore or edge

a lake serene

 

Is this what I want to come back to?

Punctuated forms

Waiting for a rattle that never happened

A hospital parking lot

dead of night

the entire

cosmos

 

Sobbing ...

I'm mesmerized.

 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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Thanks Tony! I submitted it to the Journal of interdimensional poetry for possible consideration- I hope it appeals to them as well;-) Many Thanks! Juris

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David W. Parsley

Best of luck, Doc. I like this one, too. It blends a symbolist set of dimensional jolts in juxtaposition with something Whitmanesque, a modern day Song of Myself.

 

Well Done,

- Dave

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  • 2 months later...
David W. Parsley

I am particularly impressed with your casting agent, these particular stars are so difficult to schedule... :ph34r:

 

Very nice!

- Dave

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I enjoyed reading this over again. Initially I had a mental picture of scooping up a handful of fine sand (life) and contemplation as it filtered through open fingers. It offers much more. Your reading was excellent. B.

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Mmmm. Good! Extremely good, in fact. I thought you were starting a poem with diminishing lines at first. Maybe you should continue, with the BANG interjections from time to time? I just couldn't stop playing with this poem because I got caught up with the ideas ....

 

I do realise there is nothing more irritating or annoying than some idiot coming along and trying to rewrite your original poem! For me, anyway, that is one of the forms of criticism that truly make sense, the highest form of praise. I have "rewritten" Keats and Wordsworth in my time (but never Shelley or Byron). Not that anything I write or edit is necessarily better (perish the thought!), but it's just that you got my mind going, and I started working in my own idiom among the ideas and themes, while keeping as close as possible to your original language. If this is a thing you don't care for then you have only to say so and I will never do it again!

 

All you are is a well of memory for the gods!

Remember the cool water that fed

our roots, this world sprouting,

branching, placing each

and everything just so,

and the reminder:

we are in only

one of one

possible places.

 

She said write about ordinary things

and I grab onto a persistence

of old world nostalgia

a motion of novelty

a skin on skin

familiarity.

 

Squirrel: all the the boundless gymnastics

with scrub pines scoffing at animal ideas

and stillness as black flies swirl

tying together the emptiness

at the shore or the edge

of a lake serene

 

Is this what I want to come back to?

Punctuated forms waiting for

rattles that never happen

in a hospital parking lot

at dead of night:

the entire

cosmos?

 

Sobbing snow falls, wind blows

without fire or ice: we mouth

words taught by the dead.

 

He shows a simple grammar

his morning routine

looking out ...

 

This yard

This weather

This window

This view!

 

All passion and conflict

have fled.

 

I hope, I hope they can drink deeply

in this being and becoming

wherein one tree grows

between

past and

future.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Thank You all! I really appreciate the comments and feedback! Bren &Ded, of course I don't object, deely flattered and will probably steal your re-write for my final cut.

 

Really, can't thank you all enough and I'm creating a few more as time and opportunity presents itself.

 

 

Many, many thanks!

 

Juris & Dr. Con

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