Fuck Ups
by Bud Smith
I'm not sure how to get to where you are
all I have is this room I've always had
sometimes it rains and the raindrops hit the lake
outside the window and the fish come up
and kiss the spots where the rain is hitting
because they think the rain is mayflies
you're where you are and you can't get to me either
both me and you, we're perfect
we survive on mistaken rain
perfect.
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This poem is perfect, Bud. I like everything about it, and I believe it. Nice to see you try the short form--and succeed brilliantly.
The imagery in the fish scene is vivid. And the upbeat sadness and the poignant "mistaken rain" conveys an innocence that's touches the heart. *
What Darryl said.*
A fine little closed system, perpetual in its motion.
I remember, with fondness, this on Facebook.
"we survive on mistaken rain"
Yes. Exactly.
*
*
This centers in a very knowing/not knowing place that is so visually specific. I love that. *
Yup. Another good one.
Good poem, Bud. Wonderful opening lines. +
"we survive on mistaken rain" ----goddamn. I thinka i woulda takkled ya in a dark ally with a homemade shank just to reach those words in that order. well done, sir.
*FAV
Wonderful *
Love how the title and last line work together in a strange but honest way. Total acceptance.*
The second stanza has a nice haiku quality about it. Mystical and natural. *
*, Bud. The opening two lines get it going so well.
Luscious and humble. Very fine.*
liked it all, especially the second stanza.*
Damn good, Bud. Love it. *
Perfect indeed.