“ok, this just kind of flowed out of me this morning and I can’t quite decide what exactly to make of it, those of you who know the back-story on this will probably think it is even stranger than those of you who don’t, but why on earth I put the title in the middle of the poem I have no idea, at any rate… enjoy” -jester
you know who you are, even though i hope you never read this,
and have to stretch my mind to conceive a set of circumstances
that would bring you here . . . which is why i am now
addressing you
this follows two or three other poems i’ve already written about you
but those were all less than complementary,
you told me once that you would be my muse, but i cannot believe
that was what you had in mind
and at the end, when silence seemed safer than words-
when even that stillness was charged with worry-
i do not believe i have ever been so unhappy.
and i state that in the interest of simple honesty
so you (hypothetically reading this) will understand me
when i say -
last night you were beautiful again
engaged in your art
captured for just a second in passion
i couldn’t stop watching you
as you drove a slightly ungainly
beast of music that seemed to revel
in its foibles and thus
transcend them
the past is exactly where it should be
i’ve been walking the scenic trail,
in the hope that my life is spiraling
somewhere - hopefully up -
back when we were together
trying to make sense of
this love thing
you always wanted a poem
and i never wrote you one
it wasn’t meant to be
that thing we were
or could have been
still -
it was good to see you smile
it made me happy
and now you have your poem
for whatever it’s worth
February 4th, 2006 at 3:03 pm
“Fusion, differentiation, integration.” (Ken Wilber, writing in “A Brief History Of Everything” about the 1-2-3 structure common to all fulcrums - the successive forks in the developmental road of consciousness that each of us, and all of us together, are traveling down.) Wilber quotes Yogi Berra (I’ve always wondered about his first name), who said “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”
You said it much more powerfully. And if microcosm and macrocosm indeed reflect each other, perhaps humanity will (soon, I hope) write its own new poem.
May it be as beautiful as yours.
February 14th, 2006 at 10:14 pm
The past is truly the past, from which, we can only move forward.
A poem comes when the muse speaks. It gives you information.
When the moment is ripe, you will know. It can’t be forced.
Know thyself, and from that, the information you need will come.
February 16th, 2006 at 1:35 pm
Be ready to stretch your mind… Thank you for the poem