I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

18 September 2009

A Conversation in Poetry

(Extraneous to the 30 Poems in 30 Days) 

For Those Who Love
Thom Moon 10

Attune your brightest beaming
to Light that shines when you are alive
all past imperfect/once gone
light is mere remembrance
You loved Mary Travers
and sang with her this new age in
To better bring new visions
(every one is a song/that's why lines like this(unfinished..
and when she leaves(as we all must leave
you feel a temporary sadness/loss
the cost of time's attrition
the casualties of age
Perhaps like young Elvis -to focus
upon the best that was possible when alive and spark
became art that activated.You are now
the one who remembers .Your transformational joy
to be shared by a newer generation
For what is love but change?
Forms and faces,habits and rituals
are only garments for this nakedness-
to give is all-once given,gone
And now you bring the new
from those who never knew
her or you.Beam for her!
Beam for the best and brightest within you!
MOVING E MOTIONS September 17,2009

Thom Writes of the Death of Mary Travers.
Rosemary Nissen-Wade

And so poetry brings the news
is the news, just as we always dreamed –
that immediacy, urgency,
sense of surprise,
that thing we are eager for
even as we recoil.

Yet he didn’t intend
to shout out information.
Rather he meant to say:
It is your own past you mourn for.
And: As she brought new visions
for a new age, now
create your own for this age
even newer. Honour
the past by inspiring the now,
carrying that forward into the future.

Yes, and still
I take time to mourn.
Tears start unbidden.
I Google for details, shout them
to anyone who happens near.

That golden girl, tall girl
who swayed as she sang
a willow in the breeze,
her curtain of shining hair,
the hopeful melodies.
How did she get to be
an old lady of 72 with leukemia?
(And how did I get to be … )

Other news this morning
arrives as usual via TV.
Confirmed, a different death.
The mastermind of the Bali bombings
shot dead by police in Java.
My mind spares only a moment
to pronounce coldly, carelessly, “Good.”
The Summer of Love is history

this poem an elegy and that a full stop
if I choose. But Thom reminds us:
It’s never over. Start again! Go on!


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