Tell me what this poem is saying to you
What’s the message do you think? When leaves
turn autumn bright, fall to an upturned bowl.
Is it fall or flight?
Memories of quenching rain and radiance,
brilliant sap twisting buds and
here, disembodied snow become earthly
fruit, another language feeding roots.
Not all bowls are right being right-side up.
Here’s this phrase, Grandmother made a mistake.
Now, how’d that glyph land inside of you?
Language is immediate. Either side of that
synapse, swift limb to lace of root.
Stories move like water does.
How far can a voice imagine itself?
Tell me what this poem is saying to you.
Do your fingers trace the words?
Do your lips trace the sounds?
No sense of feeling goes idyl here.
When buddha hand touched the earth
compassion became a bell.
Here’s the rake. Here’s the dust for your shoes.
Make affection of these leaves.
Tell me what this poem is saying to you.
neil reid © january 2013
comments:
This poem began before the prompt, but seemed mostly well enough to be companion to the prompt. Rather “drafty” as it doesn’t go really where the initial image wanted to go, but maybe another day. (busy head thinks too much) (listens less) But doesn’t that actually seem the hardest gradient writing… getting myself out of the way? Does to me. (OR, one might ask… Where’s Waldo?!!)
Written for the We Write Poems prompt #135, Peas in a pod. Write a poem from a gathering of “ideas”.
bearly audible 
There’s so much to love in this piece. I’m drawn to “Stories move like water” – so beautifully true.
Maybe grandmother’s glyph got in when mother made a grand mistake. I like the bowls. Put the two together (like a clamshell) and you’ve got something else entirely.
I’m drawn to that line as well. And to the compassion became a bell. And the idea of a synapse. Affection is under-rated I think.
It says an idle idyll to me! Idyllic in its language, idling back to the beginning to re-read!
It says a lot, Neil. It reaches out and touches each ear, each mind differently and that is the purpose of poems, is it not? I hear the poem sending out its message, but that message is different for me, as it is for each of those who came before me. “How far can a voice imagine itself” As far as imagination can reach because “language is immediate.” Love it Neil, this poem speaks volumes,
Elizabeth
You have captured the essence of poetry: “what is it saying to you?” Nicely written.
I like the aspects of this poem, water, bell, and bowl. I think of the affection the artist has when making a clay bowl with water – handling and forming. And a bronze bell that once formed must be quenched in water, and later lovingly polished before the tone is clearly heard. And the gentle fall of your words like water flowing comfortably in the wake of the ducks that swim in the creek behind my home…that is what I heard. As Elizabeth says everyone hears different things.
I much appreciate what everyone shared with me, but Jules I’m so delighted by your response of images-your-own, speaking right to the poem itself and allowing me to listen in. Just what that poem wanted to be given back. I love becoming the creek behind your home.
Sometimes I wonder if I get a little wordy. Or ramble on too much (poetically) – I appreciate that you allow me to be heard in the voice that is me…see you creek side 🙂
I like it, I like poems that have words like “leaves” “snow” “earth”
I like the way they make connections, Grandma’s “glyph” Buddha touching the earth. It is a feeling, more than anything else. I like things that feel more than say.