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And What's for Supper
You talk about Time like it rests only on the axis of the world;
Earth bound and skyward the passages fly, minutes in miniature.
You speak volumes on tomes that can never be read in a life of time,
Yet somehow the knowledge is there, universally acknowledged.
I envy the knowing.
I covet the learning.
How to do it all in this axis of the world,
This spit of an earth and sky.
Too short our time,
So wasted our lives,
Just trying to decide on what to have for supper,
Or maybe the cat has fleas since we itch so,
Not on the realms of man and the fire within,
Just flea bites and ham bones,
And what’s for dinner.
I Wish I Had Read More
"...flea bites and ham bones..." Doing Treasure Island (finished it 11/19 - fabulous). I keep a classic going slowly all year. Next is A Tale of Two Cities - thick reading, Dickens is long on imagery, long on sentence structure, but worth the adventure. :D slc
I like the way you mix the
I like the way you mix the incidental with the gravity of the extetential. Is life small made of think do moments; strung accumulations of mere trivia or is there something consequential working on us and if so what?
A wonderful retorical exploration and poetically elegant search for meaning..
Rimbaud
Your mention of Rimbaud in your profile and talking with other writers reminded me of how little I study. I wandered into the stacks of the Internet to familiarize myself with his poetry. So thank you for the inspiration.
There is so much brilliant
There is so much brilliant writing to fall in love with. I find it continually revitalizing to read widley and i think it is what keeps me going
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
~Sylvia Plath