by Darryl Price
I'm mucked now for sure. No one's going to discover my difficult poems
in a locked away desk drawer somewhere after the dying fact. I remember how it feels
to be knocked out by someone standing next to me in a
simple white dress. This isn't anything you can do anything
about, not in this lifetime. You can always pretend to be in love
because you're bored or it's the next dot to connect, but the
real thing is like a huge magnet that works only on your entire center, it captures
all the moments in your life, every minute that's any good. Here let me put
it another way for you—you can't be glad to be alive
without sharing that feeling in the presence of the
one you want to want. Sharing's the happy result. It comes
and you can't stop it, you need to feel it all the way home
again to the end of all endings--that is forever. But back onto the poetry thing. I now
realize that I've been speaking directly to Children to come,
who'll pick up on the hum inside these words like nothing else.
They'll make good sense of it, know how to use it without being
told a fucking fairy tale. They'll use it to construct their own new
mythologies. To make it rain. Walk over to the moon on balloons for shoes.
To bring all poems roaring back to life. To eat the dripping fruit.
Go Tell the Ghost
in the little yellow
rain coat to knock
it off. You might
not be heard tonight,
but you will be
seen. I promise you that.
Or don't. Each adventure
comes with its own particular
doors and windows. That's
the nature of any
man-eating flower, and
when it comes down
to it, they all
are, this doesn't stop
anything from happening, but
maybe that's my point--
you'll still welcome dreams
in you, I'll still
write you many poem-infused postcards.
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Things are much simpler than we pretend. The drama gets sped up and we get dizzy and before you know it, there is only ground and spinning sky. Personally I write because I know it means something to someone to hear these words--I can feel their acceptance like a heartbeat. Maybe like Todd said,"There's nobody listening to people like us," but we each are.
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The children of the future will of course understand. They will have been through so much worse than we have. We are writing for them now. fv*
Gorgeous - and true. I love the economy and building power.
Oh no, Darryl. You used a bad word. look out, the thought police are coming.
Much enjoyed. *
*to eat from dripping fruit*
ahhhhhh.
Agreed, that ending is just a beautiful thought.
Nice
thereal thing is like a huge magnet that works only on you;that can't be escaped.
Good DP, good.*
"Here let me put / it another way for you..."
"But back to the poetry thing."
Darryl, you put me in mind of John Donne!
Great poem!
*
Yes yes yes! To all of this.