Day: January 18, 2016

Blind now are my hours

I feel soft ghostly hands around my throat

That want to pull me to the  darkest deep

My husband cannot leave or be remote

He wishes me to join him in his sleep.

 

I shall resist for I desire to live

Though  blind now are my hours without his face.

I have no more I hope to give

Since he withdrew from me his  kind embrace.

 

As lonely as a swan without its mate.

As tired as swallows after they migrate

I must accept my unconsoled fate

I'll  not  accept this be a constant state.

 

From my loss I shall recover when

The birds return and summer comes again

 

Technicians

Doctors  are technicians today

Their eloquent hands never  pray

They just use new machines

And ancient vaccines

To lessen our will  to decay.

 

But preserving our souls is too hard

As rituals and rites have been barred.

So we pretend we have none,

And it’s true they have gone

To the underground where there’s no guard.

 

Eloquence is no guarantee

But it suits  us when making a  plea.

The inarticulate beseech

As with  eyes they out reach

A minimum wage   and some glee,

 

 

 

 

Eloquent

eloquent
ˈɛləkwənt/
adjective
adjective: eloquent
  1. fluent or persuasive in speaking or writing.
    “an eloquent speech”
    synonyms:

    DSCF0006

    		 persuasive, expressive, articulate, fluent; More
    antonyms: inarticulate
Origin
late Middle English: via Old French from Latin eloquent-‘speaking out’, from the verb eloqui (see eloquence

When he went away

When he went away, He said,

Lehitraot,mama.

Do vstrechi.

He died but I’m still here

Yes,in my heart I feel his love.

But why did I live,

And he did  not?

Auf wiedersehen

Lehitraot.

Yes,darling,I’ll see you later,

When the sky turns black and all the stars blaze bright

I’ll see you shining in the night.

I’ll see you in my dreams alas.

Do vstrechi.

But why you and not me too?

Araka

I can’t understand.

Lehitraot,beloved.

A plus tard

Somewhere in this world,you fell

But no-one,not even God, can tell.

God was absent then or in some other place

He’s gone again

 They said He’s died too

Do vstrechi.

My breasts ache and my heart and soul;

My breasts were made to make you whole.

To feed,  to love and to console.

A plus tard

And now they ache with grief as my tears fall.

A bientot

My body trembles in the night,

As dreams may bring my lost ones to my sight.

A plus  tard

I’d walk across the roughest bleak terrain

If l I could find my loves and hold your hands again.

Do vstrechi.

The bell rings on the ancient clock

Time goes on ,it doesn’t stop.

Araka

I wish the hands of time could be reversed,

And I was not living with this curse.

People forget that I once had a son.

They think my grieving has been done.

Araka.

But grief and loss and pain will never end

Until the curtain of my death descends

Auf wiedersehen.

Meanwhil I look at flowers and birds and trees,

But it’s really you my deepening insight sees.

Lehitraot.

 The inscape of my heart is shown to few;

An artist of the lost would know this view.

I know I want to see just you.

Do vstrechi.

But for me there is no Auf wiedersehen.

Never again will you say

What you said that day

Lehitraot,

Mama. Papa

A plus tard

Tot ziens.

See you later

See you soon.

See you.

You the beloved one.

I can’t see you.

Word Maps

This was written whilst I was thinking a great deal about maps which are  mental concepts,though they may be depicted in atlases or in other ways depending on what they describe.A word is a map We need to feel reality through our senses.This is a problem with modern technology too It’s easy to read or write all day on your computer ,but not a goo d thing if you don’t have sensuous experience too.See,hear,sing,dance,touch,taste …take a chance,enjoy romance,dance.Glance,

 

POEM

A map’s a guide to find a world

Knitted by angels,plain or pearled,

And though you need a map as guide,

Keep your own eyes open wide.

I spent a year caught in a map

Until I found a big enough gap

I crawled out through this exit slit,

So here I am,like some half wit

Words can act like heroin,

You live so high ,where I have been.

But onto earth I gladly fall.

The air the sun the rain is all.

My senses are my lovers long-

My ears,my eyes,my skin my tongue.

The winds caress my naked flesh,

To dwell on earth is all I wish.

I’ll live with mice and birds and plants,

I’ll share my food with miscreants

I’ll keep my words inside a tin,

And only, now and then,go in.

I’ll live with cats and spiders three.

And like a wild flower grow quite free.

I’ ll give my words to those who hear,

And eventually I’ll disappear

Earth to earth then ash to ash

When soaked with rain I shall disperse.

My atoms wing like butterflies,

And to the Flower I’ll fly,disguised

Lessons by Vanessa Stauffer

American Life in Poetry: Column 565

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

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This column is more than ten years old and I’ve finally gotten around to trying a little origami! Here’s a poem about that, and about a good deal more than that, by Vanessa Stauffer, who teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan.

Lessons

To crease a sheet of paper is to change
its memory, says the origami
master: what was a field of snow
folded into flake. A crane, erect,
structured from surface. A tree
emerges from a leaf—each form undone
reveals the seams, pressed
with ruler’s edge. Some figures take
hundreds to be shaped, crossed
& doubled over, the sheet bound
to its making—a web of scars
that maps a body out of space,
how I fashion memory: idling
at an intersection next to Jack Yates High,
an hour past the bell, I saw a girl
fold herself in half to slip beneath
the busted chain-link, books thrust
ahead, splayed on asphalt broiling
in Houston sun. What memory
will she retain? Her cindered palms,
the scraped shin? Braids brushing
the dirt? The white kite of her homework
taking flight? Finding herself
locked out, or being made
to break herself in.