It is a daunting everyday: It is a daunting everyday existence with traps all about while yet hanging on to the promise of beauty, good, and good returns. In many ways, as the poem aptly states: 'we may have to wait a bit until we begin again at the end of each turn.' Thanks so much for sharing.
Everything a love poem should: Everything a love poem should be: from whispers of haunting reminiscence to soul-stirring admiration; from pensive, striking and symbolic ambience to poignantly etched flashes of physical connection that expanded into something vast, grand, enduring.
Breathtaking. Loving this madly!
I just had to revisit this: I just had to revisit this one. It is very compelling in the way that only the most powerful poetry can be, yet the details of the romance---and especially those final seven lines---are delicately presented in a very quiet way that absolutely confirms the truth of the emotion that lives in this poem. I have been reading Poetry for fifty years as of this past April: so I think I have some credibility to say, with utter sincerity, this is one of the finest Love poems (either ancient or modern, I admire them all across all eras of History) I have ever encountered anywhere at any time. I have added it to the list of "Favoritea" on my laptop so that I can revisit . . . and I do, most certainly, plan to revisit . . . .
I am so sorry for falling: I am so sorry for falling behind on my reading, and missing your recent poems. This poem presents Icarus to us with excellent insight, and I applaud your accomplishment here.
This is exquisitely, even: This is exquisitely, even achingly, beautiful; and those last seven lines are triumphantly comforting in the face of all that you suffered. I really like this poem; let me repeat for emphasis---I really like this poem!!!
Having experienced that kind: Having experienced that kind of desire more times than I care to admit, I applaud your poem for describing it so well and so accurately.
During my childhood, I walked: During my childhood, I walked on eggshells all the time. I realized at a very, very early age (sometime prior to kindergarten) that I was unable, and would always be unable, to fulfill my parents' expectations. There was so much I could not disclose to them. But, forty-eight years ago (as of the 13th of this month), I told them I wanted to be a poet (as opposed to my earlier ambition to be a writer of horror and/or science fiction stories); I said this to them on a Monday evening, during dinner, and the aghast expression on their faces was so amusing that I could not help giggling (and did not even try to suppress the response). Poetry was one of the four cardinal sins in their little (and belittling world); and the fact that I not only inclined to it, but openly admitted the ambition, struck them as an ultimate betrayal,
Yes, those eggshells are very, very familiar to me, and very much a part of my memories from childhood and adolescence. I am sorry you had to experience them as well.
>> View All Comment Activity >>