A Journey of Seven Thousand Miles
by Bill Yarrow
I had studied the prohibitions carefully.
We had been warned not to eat any raw
fruit, but when I saw the bowl of freckled
apples that morning at breakfast, something
numinous came over me. Greedily, I grabbed
an apple and cut it into fourths. The taste of
what is denied us is always sweet, and so are
the careless acts that spell our doom. Love
must have seemed so as it steamed out of
the primitive soul. In the land of amorous
gods who balance on bubbles of swift bliss
it is the elephant who most knows about restraint.
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Author's Note
A version of poem appeared in Connotation Press.
Thank you, Joani Reese!
This poem appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX, 2012)
[Read this poem yesterday (3.1.12) at the Connotation Press reading at AWP (LOUD bar venue!) with Meg Tuite, Robert Vaughan, Susan Tepper, and Len Kuntz-- all outstanding readers!]
very nice. "bubbles of sweet bliss," indeed. excellent.
Good poem, Bill. Wish I had heard you read it aloud.*
the taste of what is denied us is so sweet, how true how true.
Lovely
The grand reality: "The taste of
what is denied us is always sweet, and so are
the careless acts that spell our doom."
*
Bill, I love your sense of invention and how sure you are of its destination. Your work makes me happy to read it. I savor it. So well made. So well put. Original and full of purpose and meaning.
Thanks James! Thanks Joani! Thanks Estelle! Thanks Sam! Thanks Darryl! Greatly appreciate the comments and the faves. (Can't write on anyone's wall.)
The careless acts that spell our doom. Love this one!
Wonderful, Bill, truly profound in its quite way.
*
Thanks, Susan!
What is it with men and apples? At least you're not blaming a woman here. I love this part: "Love
must have seemed so as it steamed out of
the primitive soul."
Typical Bill brilliance. *