A profound image that speaks: A profound image that speaks of inner strength upon the mountains of enlightenment. What life form wouldn't benefit from the energy of the Himalayas? Brilliant minimalism.
I read that Saint Francis of: I read that Saint Francis of Assisi used to go to the marketplace to set the animals free. He would have loved your precious and compassionate prayer. A huge "Amen!"
I agree! You captured that: I agree! You captured that exquisitely in the lines: "and maybe if, like me, you look / too often you might see that strange, dim glow/ that seems to seep out of the dirty panes." That did strike me when I read it, but, being tired I didn't point it out. I suppose if I gave all your poems the attention they deserved I would write a long essay under each one and be online for hours.
I absolutely loved this.
I Was always there : But if that is the way you want it well then fine even everyone knows how much I miss our talks you know how to shut the door on your friends
Harder Now: Covid has slowed the pace. My thiughts abiut death is hiw to dekay inevitability. In 61 years I too write as therapy - better out than in. What can be din in 20-50 more years is ice tipped with laughter and sorrow. It is what all humans get, alone/together same scales that tilt perpetually. .
Nobody gets rose gardens all the time. Eye contacted, I see others and rejoice in being alive in the time of the internet. Feel indifferent occasionally, remember no matter what you think you do not have someone somewhere would rejoice to be you. Yep. .
Lady A
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Lady A
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Hang In There: You write a good poem. I die daily and rise to write or scream at the world's ill and evils. Then continue my days, yelling at the pigeons. Read to lose time. Pill a pain, eat meat - a life nearing an ending sometime or other.
I used to know a guy who I: I used to know a guy who I still consider a friend, though we've been out of touch for many years, and was absolutely enamored with trains. He wanted so badly to be a conductor, someday. I've always loved trains, myself (though not on his level haha), and so he'd come by and take me to frieght tracks I didn't know about and we'd sit there waiting for the train to come and just chat. This poem reminds me of those times, and of course, of an old friend. Thank you.
Thank you very much. I think: Thank you very much. I think one of the most horrifying images, or narratives, is that of an old, abandoned, deteriorating house, in which nothing living dwells; and in night's darkness, it is like a smear or blot on the far horizon; and then, as it is being watched, a dim light begins to glow in one of its windows. To me, that is more chilling than any CGI special effects . . . .