Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Holding Secret Words, The Last Moment

Sometimes I have no idea what I am writing. It gets spooky. This poem from Dec 12, for example, I have no idea who the "I" of this poem is. It is not me. This "I" holds an attitude not mine and is intending to treat "you" in a way I don't think I would. Maybe.

Holding Secret Words

Blue Angels scribble
In blue sky late afternoon,
In my eye, my soul,
Saying secret things
Meant for me to tell - maybe
I will tell you soon.

I will have to run,
Investigate your fitness
To receive lofty truth.
First I have to test
The times and set the story,
Test my sanity.


Here is a pondering that came to me on the same day, an hour later. This is a vision of a very good way to die on a very good day.

The Last Moment

Who would I be then
At peace in the death moment
The cliff in my view?

What would you say to my face
And then behind my old back?

I think I would be
A prayer ready to go,
A farewell, a wave.


  1. They are beautiful poems Christopher.

    Why not you?
    When not you
    It could be me
    Because today again
    I failed the test of sanity :)

  2. beautiful- if we all could all die like that xx

  3. Hello, Jozien, good poem.

    Lisa, it is my dream. My mom got close, but I'm sure she didn't like the headache the stroke gave her at all.

  4. There is serendipity in our poems again today, I think, Christopher.

  5. Heh. You would think we planned it. This is how conspiracy theories are born. :)

  6. Both beautiful, Christopher, although I will admit that I have to read the first one a couple of times. Maybe I'm not fit to receive lofty truth? ;)

    Interesting that you have the cliff in your view; so does my poem.

  7. i was reading your first poem and after i got past my obsession with the blue angels i was strangely compelled to find a chocolate budda on the internets........

    there are other chocolate deities too.... it is difficult picking the right one. this one is aphrodite, death by chocolate.....

    this is just a cute thing..... spooky.....

  8. Karen, as I said, it weren't me, dangit. The question I have about that cliff, am I at the bottom looking up, at the top ready to fall? I don't think I should assume.

    Ghost, glad you are back in the neighborhood. What's that? I felt ectoplasmic touch on the back of my neck!

  9. Ghost, Tarsiers are not very spooky. They so teensy. Wouldn't that be a great pet? I could walk around with death on my left shoulder and a tarsier on my right.

  10. Karen & Rachel, the serendipity thickens. I don't recall if you all wrote these poems recently or not in poem time, but for me this death poem is several hundred poems ago. :)

  11. Both poems are wonderful. I've written poems in which the narrator and meaning were unknown to me. Then later (sometimes a long time later), I realize who the narrator is and what it's about. It's sort of spooky what the subconscious will bring up. But I like this one.

    "The Last Moment" is another winner. I love the second stanza. I've always wondered what my last moment will be like. Will it be quick and beautiful? Painful? Or will my dying synapses make that last moment seem like a crazy acid trip? Sorry to be morbid. I guess we all think about it from time to time. Great poems:)

  12. {{{Julie}}}

    Thanks for your comments. I like to hope I follow Don Juan Matus' suggestion to Carlos that we keep death on our left shoulder. It was the one thing out of that whole series of odd books that really strongly made sense to me. I think of the narrator of the first one as fictional, or at least haven't found the source yet. Poems can certainly be fictions.

    What fun. I get to do things in my poems I never do on the planet...


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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