quartz like this
in the beginning I relied upon repetition
over and over like two tracks in sand
like silver dollars mold themselves close
into the shore and my feet are wearing
themselves into a dream grain by grain
and still even now repeating the beat.
it’s like my first two thoughts and we say
two because we say time and that makes
us linear so really it’s just one thread
continuos like one pulse one beat you
see hear feel and it is only the illusion
of thought that even suggests difference.
and the thing about a thread is that they’re
all circles woven like a meal or like rain or
your life or a child’s color of eye and you
can never get to either start or finish without
the thread walking walking until only god
is left within your gathering reach.
am I alone from my own life? to live
these many years unmarried from my own
breath, from my footfalls to cousin earth,
from true hunger and true joy no more
hidden than grass from the sun? we ask
these questions when true doubt arrives
and is indeed no disguise but rather
the most generous of engaging truth.
neil reid © may 2012
comments:
Write a poem about loneliness, asks the prompt.
Maybe this is being some measure trite. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe the poem is not all done, also just like me. Didn’t start off thinking about that old sense of loneliness, just observational. But maybe that’s what I came to observe. Although not in a distressing sense, but rather just what is.
It does reflect my April experience in some sum part. I’ve been more ill than ever yet in my life during this month – more partly meaning my body could not heal itself all alone. That’s not my usual experience. Better now, but for April that was my major focus. Yet too, perhaps it also allowed me to step outside my personal “usual” in many aspects of my life. Maybe well worth the price.
Written for the We Write Poems prompt #104 by Irene.
I wandered lonely as a cloud.
The last stanza is honestly moving and lyrical. What an interesting angle to come upon the subject of loneliness. I enjoyed reading, Neil.
And honestly it came to the prompt three-quarters after the fact. And that’s the progression here, pedantic to lyric. Thank you Irene.
this is a gorgeous poem, Neil. The imagery is creative and dreamy — each stanza artfully composed. The last stanza followed by last line . . . wonderful. I enjoyed this and will be back to re-read it. Very nice write.
Very kind, very generous of you Nan. This poem took seed from some artists video I saw (don’t know what, having come in the middle, you know). And it had this quality of a mix of droning/dreaming voice, yet raw, tender, quietly wild and open like a baby’s eyes. That’s what I was going for in my clumsy way. Thank you Nan.
“unmarried from my own breath” wow.
Not meaning vain, but yea, I agree. Thanks!
It’s not vanity when it’s valid. Toot your horn, dude.
Both scientific yet abstract…I like that being a Sci/fi fan. A dreamy quality that is equal to our night dreams when we are indeed alone, and perhaps lonely with ourselves. Worth a few re-reads. Thank you.
‘…no more hidden than grass from the sun?’ Each blade alone yet a part of the whole ‘grass’. Interesting words that are both singular and plural.
Oh I’m still fuzzy in thought. I was sure I’d answered you already, but… thank you Jules. While I might be more right-brained than left poem-wise, I yet hunger for more honesty in my writing. I think if I’m more “immediate” I might more closely get where I want to be. This poem has some of that, very immediate images taken as they come. Maybe not all literal, but then need meanings all be literal to be true?
(And pardon) but if you like this poem, this blend, maybe I can suggest a very old poem of mine (maybe some rough, but) I feel very real and close about the images.
The dreams that grass dreams
Neil, I have read this several times and see more and more in it with each read. The last stanza leaves me breathless.
(May I call you Purple?)
Thank you much. April was very hard for me to write anything. But then, some less sick, and no April quota to fill, and suddenly a poem wants to come out and play. No figuring.
I always liked what William Stafford said about the meanings of poems. Don’t matter so much what the poet meant; matters more what meaning you the reader see from within yourself. So, I thank you for the eyes to see and understand.
You are an eloquent man, Neil.
If your way is – as you put it – “clumsy”, then let me be clumsy too. A heart-searching, heartbreaking poem.
I’d hope some mending too (more than heartbreaking). Who of us hasn’t lived a clumsy life, ripe with mistakes, ripe to learn?
Thanks always for your kindness Viv.
Great piece, Neil. What it means to you was conveyed rather brilliantly. What I take from it touches many chords.
Thank you Walt. (especially the second part) A poem if it meets a good fate will simply be cousin of light, any light. Thanks.