Your memory overcomes my mind like a thick stormcloud overcomes the sky
utterly and completely blocking all other thoughts
so when I'm in a lecture hall or standing in line for the register
my day is wiped clean and I become a mumbling mummy lost in the new world of civilization
looking with virgin eyes upon a world that's missing you from it
Sometimes I wish you could lend me your voice
never a hesitant note or a high pitched squeak to be found
but a comforting monotone of warmth and reasurances
that all will be fine and tomorrow the sun will shine through remnants of clouds
to form waterfalls of sunbeams in the sky
and drizzle birdsong and rainbows
upon a renewed earth
This is what your voice does to my head, even if you never actually speak
But I've learned that memory is like a sunrise during a storm
even at it's darkest it will paint the world in shades of orange and red that seem to dance on the wind
even at it's faintest it will transform the void to accomodate a million raindrops lit from within
then leave without so much as "goodbye" or "I'll see you again" or "It's all for the best,"
and every single moment since will be different and unfamiliar until it's exactly the same
as before
When sound joins the visuals I have stored of you it's enough to break any illusion of being strong or letting go
but I don't think my heart can handle any more of this
it can't afford to shatter into even smaller bits, because frankly, I'm running out of superglue
and the thought of finding myself in line to the register to buy glue and band aids
only to hear a voice I once knew better than my own, and get lost in a misty forest of memories
is a little too chaotic even for this glorious day to handle
So keep silent and I promise never to forget you
and even if I could manage to skip worlds into one where we never met
I bet I'll still remember you, not in a dream kind of way, but a real kind of way
and see your face where you've never been, but where we sat together and spoke of tenderness
because memory is nothing without the feelings holding it tied together to our heads
creating new pathways and networks that carry us through
the lonely days ahead
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Being lost, being crazy maybe, is not so bad, if you can be that way undisturbed.
A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose. ~Samuel McChord Crothers
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I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. ~Pablo Neruda
Happiness is sharing a bowl of cherries and a book of poetry with a shade tree. He doesn't eat much and doesn't read much, but listens well and is a most gracious host. ~Astrid Alauda
Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind. ~Thomas Babington Macaulay
Most painters have painted themselves. So have most poets: not so palpably indeed, but more assiduously. Some have done nothing else. ~Augustus William Hare
Poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is. ~James Branch Cabell
Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. ~Carl Sandburg
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
~Mark Strand, "Eating Poetry"
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
~Mark Strand, "Eating Poetry"
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. _Leonard Cohen
Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. ~Robert Frost
I would as soon write free verse as play tennis with the net down. ~Robert Frost
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Copyright 2009
One for poetry's sake.
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