Sunday, August 2, 2009

Another One Of Those Questions, Why Do I Do This

Yes, indeed, how many are there?

Another One Of Those Questions

How many are there
living in the sweet calm lake
of love contented
to be so long paired
that the wedding is only
the pictures, the old
announcement, the ring
still worn if not lost somehow?

February 2, 2009 1:57 PM

******************************************

There are the big things in my life. Even at this point, I really don't know what to make of them. I know the illusions I followed. I know what I wanted but that was never possible. Three times I tried. Instead I have the life of the possible. That is all right with me. I am all right.

Why Do I Do This

You tell me to check
so I look in all the back
rooms, in the boxes
I stashed there, looking
for motives, hidden behind
the obvious ones.

Out of the corner
of my eye something scurries
along the wall, dives
into that small hole
and refuses to come out,
not even for you.

That is, you say, the main motive.

February 2, 2009 2:42 PM

10 comments:

  1. jeez. there always has to be a motive I guess. Mine was "my heart rests on a pillow of..." I forget the rest of the story.

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  2. If we didnt have that scurrying beastie I guess there'd be no need to be here :)

    xxx

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  3. Fewer and fewer, I think, live those lives these days.

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  4. Hi Christopher:) I like the first poem...I have always thought in my life that I would be one of those as far as marriage goes...and who knows, maybe I will. A few years ago I had to cut my wedding ring off because of an illness that made my fingers swell -- it was awful. My husband has never taken his ring off.

    I like the thought of motives being elusive. I often feel that way -- not really clear on why I do what I am doing and what direction I am going in --

    "The life of the possible" For some reason that line seems that it should be in a poem :)

    Love to you. Hope you are feeling well.

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  5. I guess it's a little insulting to think the main motive is ratlike and difficult to dislodge. Then again that may be insulting to rats as well. I am rather pleased with that poem.

    Yes, Karen, I think the world flat doesn't support that ideal anymore. It doesn't suit the need for flexibility that seems inherent in today's marketplace. We seem to no longer be focussed on children except as resources and sources of profit.

    The back story, Faith, is that I lost my ring quite innocently one day and it devastated me. I was so afraid that Annie would think I threw it away. I never replaced it because every workplace in my career requires ringless fingers anyway for safety.

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  6. I have quite enjoyed your poetic reflections over the past number of posts... there seems to be a thrum drumming beneath them ... I like how you follow the rhythm that calls to you. Thank you.

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  7. Harlequin! {{{Harlequin}}} Wow. I am so used to no one catching or caring about that. It's a musical thing of course. That thrum as you call it is what permits musicians to improvise solo and even together, not only that there may be a form, like 12-bar blues, but also the ebb and flow of the rhythm happening right now...and different now...and different yet again.

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  8. That thrum thing is also what happens when Rachel writes to my poem or me to hers.

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  9. The second one is startling. We hide things even from ourselves? There's the truth of it sometimes. Don't think I like that.

    The first is rather haunting to me.

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


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