tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post8835613680933841572..comments2023-10-28T04:53:32.505-07:00Comments on View From The Northern Wall: Another Symbolic Poem, Your Complaintchristopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-4607210902607401272009-06-04T18:38:45.266-07:002009-06-04T18:38:45.266-07:00That is what happened. She died of stroke while s...That is what happened. She died of stroke while she was recovering from hip surgery. She threw the stroke while I was visiting, so it was me that called for help, immediately. Three days later she died in coma but not so far gone that she couldn't communicate when she started to die too soon. I was there again. We got her morphine so she could continue to breathe. Finally her daughter got in and sat with her for forty five minutes. She started to fail and I moved to her side and held her while she struggled with her inability to inhale and then died. This is was a quiet easy thing compared to the fit she pitched that afternoon. I was just saying over and over it's okay, you can go now, we love you.<br /><br />So it was me three times in the process.christopherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-17651214100077450072009-06-04T17:53:12.192-07:002009-06-04T17:53:12.192-07:00She came back to you, Christopher. She came back ...She came back to you, Christopher. She came back and died in your arms. <br />My god!Woman in a Windowhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14747858840088922077noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-47642037098822939072009-06-03T19:31:53.765-07:002009-06-03T19:31:53.765-07:00Human lady being, I agree. We are symbolists. Pe...Human lady being, I agree. We are symbolists. People who prefer Hemingway's take on things don't doubt that. They say instead, leave it to the reader. They say, strive for the spare and let the reader fill in. This is like many cartoonists who let the reader draw imaginary lines where they are missing or add fingers to three or four fingered hands. It is a school. So is the artful addition of symbol on purpose. This school aims at adding symbols so cleverly and delicately that they cannot be picked out, but sensitive readers may tell companion stories, like Catv did that mirror the hidden symbol. This then is the story within the story.<br /><br />Erin, here comes the stage of life thing. As a mother, you know this because raising your children forces you to let go in stages until finally you have to act like my mom did and know her son has to make it on his own, and so agree with his distancing. For her own reasons, she literally moved to Missouri while I moved to Oregon. This is the same gesture you make as you age with life itself if you get it what is happening.<br /><br />It was only in her last stage of life that she moved five minutes away from me. This so she could die in my arms. Which she did.christopherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-69637842445797604552009-06-03T16:33:28.599-07:002009-06-03T16:33:28.599-07:00I think it's ok to hold on. I think it's ...I think it's ok to hold on. I think it's just fine to enjoy this thing of life. And too, in those moments, those rare moments of perfection, then, then my heart says go and my feet almost listen.Woman in a Windowhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14747858840088922077noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-20603742667198109912009-06-03T16:11:06.564-07:002009-06-03T16:11:06.564-07:00:)
thanks...
and you know, sometimes a moss is a ...:)<br />thanks...<br /><br />and you know, sometimes a moss is a moss just for the writer but not for the reader...<br /><br />when we read, we RECREATE... and no one can deprive us of this right... even the writer...<br />:D<br /><br />sometimes friends and even i myself when 'reading' my own work, find things i never had (consciously) in my mind while writing...<br /><br />i cherish them all...<br /><br />and i think if we had the intention that a moss be a moss, we would never write... we would just watch it...<br />:Dhuman beinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09232419187783429903noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-39959095709261556542009-06-03T07:49:12.226-07:002009-06-03T07:49:12.226-07:00Jon, thanks for stopping by and giving Hemingway h...Jon, thanks for stopping by and giving Hemingway his due. I was going to say what I meant by my challenge but I have thought better of it.<br /><br />Human Being, That is just fine. Sometimes moss is just moss as Hemingway said. The evocation is call and response. (oooh this is hard. I will not say it. I will not say it. I will not say it.) Your image is perfect and aligned.christopherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-78236244129576199002009-06-02T21:29:59.293-07:002009-06-02T21:29:59.293-07:00ummmmm, by accident actually :)ummmmm, by accident actually :)Michellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00816138640432897870noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-65288489398057966232009-06-02T20:48:20.423-07:002009-06-02T20:48:20.423-07:00:)
Hi Jon!:)<br />Hi Jon!human beinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09232419187783429903noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-35305675706568864412009-06-02T20:39:49.732-07:002009-06-02T20:39:49.732-07:00oh... and hi to Human being in passing... who must...oh... and hi to Human being in passing... who must have been writing her comment as I was writing mine...<br /><br />sometimes attached at the hip we are...Jonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07415555531504843017noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-65584896670279495212009-06-02T20:37:30.786-07:002009-06-02T20:37:30.786-07:00Interpreting interpretation
something too simpli...Interpreting interpretation<br /><br /><br />something too simplistic in saying that something means something simply because we mean it to<br /><br />if I say the word rose twenty times it no longer holds a definition and the petal gives way to red that becomes more red<br /><br />chrome becomes more chrome<br /><br />to write is to always already be a character in one's own story like the dreams in the daytime of a schizophrenic mind<br /><br />and then<br /><br />we're back to square one<br /><br />======================<br /><br />Hemingway once said to a room full of reporters having been asked for the thousandth time about his great work:<br /><br />"Listen. The old man is just an old man. The sea is just the sea. And the fish is just a f*&%ing fish!"<br /><br /><br />;)<br /><br />Thanks for sharing your writing with us here in this forum and for always stopping by my site and leaving such thoughtful responses. Catch up with you again soon...Jonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07415555531504843017noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-8857555176133913902009-06-02T20:34:37.089-07:002009-06-02T20:34:37.089-07:00i think moss cleaning is composing poetry... all y...i think moss cleaning is composing poetry... all you described created this vivid reference to the way i write... the way my mind gets rid of the images and words that crowd it... and again they are there... and i love them and the cleaning...<br /><br />:)<br /><br /><br />the second poem was a beautiful balance...human beinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09232419187783429903noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-28156534504829559542009-06-02T16:03:23.435-07:002009-06-02T16:03:23.435-07:00Ghost, I do like the idea it's about brushing teet...Ghost, I do like the idea it's about brushing teeth. HarHarHar.<br /><br />(blush)<br /><br />actually I brush too often to get moss.christopherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-27608823984314391142009-06-02T14:44:32.192-07:002009-06-02T14:44:32.192-07:00i thought the moss was symbolic of something.... b...<A HREF="http://www.performance-vision.com/gery-romania2/Tran14-MossCoveredRoof-on-MountainCottage.jpg" REL="nofollow">i thought the moss was symbolic of something....</A> but i didn't know what.... it's kinda like brushing your teeth.... or not.... i don't know....Ghost Dansinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15216056025402469120noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-78768553525408609142009-06-02T13:54:41.935-07:002009-06-02T13:54:41.935-07:00Ravi, welcome.
Catv. you found the symbol though ...Ravi, welcome.<br /><br />Catv. you found the symbol though you have said it in your own expanded and beautiful way. In fact you found it so poetically that there is still room for some others to reach and touch in different ways.christopherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-57382240831990331492009-06-02T13:49:27.516-07:002009-06-02T13:49:27.516-07:00As I'm reading this, thunder is rolling through th...As I'm reading this, thunder is rolling through the mountains and the rain is pouring down. It cleanses and mixes with the tears which still flow from yesterday's torrents. I feel a cleansing is happening, but know that some moss will remain, and that's ok, because without it, how would I remember all I have known? <br /><br />Dark things do make their way out, and rumble, yes stab loudly as they scream their way over the mountains, but the gleam when it clears, over the green green earth, the sparkle on the grass, the roots watered in, oh for that I will take the screaming thunder, as a shout from God that I remain, here, rooted into the earth.Catherine Viberthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01354073276671196477noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-87047798984541113702009-06-02T11:21:20.703-07:002009-06-02T11:21:20.703-07:00I loved poetry as a child, a left it for awhile an...I loved poetry as a child, a left it for awhile and then returned at 15 to Rod MacKuen no less and Robert Frost..yes I know. <br /><br />I had an old album proudly titled one hundred and one poems by Brenda (which is another name of mine) I left it again...I could not understand the fascination with poetry of some people..the lending of it so much importance and place. Rachel and you have brought me back in full force to that dance..and I may stay longer this time. I'm having a good time. Thankyou!Ravyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14957340658730227621noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-83162183572119964382009-06-02T09:48:15.370-07:002009-06-02T09:48:15.370-07:00The Wind Of Your Truth
The wind of your truth
pu...<B>The Wind Of Your Truth</B> <br /><br />The wind of your truth<br />pushes against me, testing<br />my balance among<br />this grove of ancient<br />trees. Listen to the soughing<br />of the upper limbs<br />as the far dim sun<br />slowly wakes this day and me<br />thawing out beneath.christopherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-47028105067550150572009-06-02T08:55:19.741-07:002009-06-02T08:55:19.741-07:00That you hold on,
this makes it safe for me
to lo...That you hold on,<br />this makes it safe for me <br />to love you, even knowing <br />one day <br />I just might <br />have to wail with the wind<br />in a healthy course of mourning <br />when you reluctantly <br />take your leave.<br /><br />Other bright flames dance <br />in the wind, mocking;<br />daring her breath to strike <br />them down<br />abruptly, <br />snuffed.<br />I guard my heart against<br />their charm, knowing <br />they would never stay<br />for me.RachelWhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18225401230724459199noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-87752699300828638972009-06-02T08:54:56.474-07:002009-06-02T08:54:56.474-07:00Thank you Missy. Glad you came by.Thank you Missy. Glad you came by.christopherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-67544182957868291462009-06-02T07:23:25.872-07:002009-06-02T07:23:25.872-07:00Michelle, think thank thunk...what a shard of very...Michelle, think thank thunk...what a shard of very old language. Sink sank sunk sunken, thunken. Heh. Germanic or Norse or something like that. From before English was anything like the English we know now...think thought. Wowee. How do you get there? Modern English tends to more regular stuff but think is an old word.<br /><br />Karen, I would leave it all if I could have someone else pay for the roof repair. I love it too.christopherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04201537517464996231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-86976578899095745412009-06-02T02:51:39.590-07:002009-06-02T02:51:39.590-07:00I love the image of moss as both covering and love...I love the image of moss as both covering and loved and as pest that must be removed. I think we all have our own mosses on our roofs. Some of us leave more than others. Which is better? I love a moss-covered cottage!<br /><br />Love the contrasts in the second.Karenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12003379181294550035noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-91477356758878484582009-06-02T01:22:28.162-07:002009-06-02T01:22:28.162-07:00Ahem...thUnk...:)Ahem...thUnk...:)Michellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00816138640432897870noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2377252801421681569.post-58257654800235688572009-06-02T01:21:47.040-07:002009-06-02T01:21:47.040-07:00Oh, I love both of them Christopher!
The first br...Oh, I love both of them Christopher!<br /><br />The first brings to mind a periodic 'clean up' of the psyche...the second, wow.<br /><br />My blog is giving me a lot of pleasure lately too. <br /><br />Who'd a think it heh.<br /><br />xxxxxMichellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00816138640432897870noreply@blogger.com