All that is dust
will glitter in their eyes
all that is broken
will be whole once again
The voices
ceased their chatter
a long time ago
as long as the darkness
surrounds me
I am not alone--
Poetry smears the page
like tears on green ink
fingers crossed,
we dance on our own graves
because on paper
we live in the forever country
cherry trees stretch up
into the grand blue reaches;
poetry, fallen, layers
lying lush
is the dirt that nourishes them
take one more step toward me
and the night will tumble around us
as this world on a spindle
already our clothes are mountains
on the floor next to the dimming light
of our so-called better judgment
chips fall where they might--
pick up the pieces with me
and poetry will be born tonight
and all the million other nights
that will know love
when they see it.
Top: Does this really need commentary? I think not.
Middle: Going with the 'Loony' or Lunar theme, this is a close up of an area on the darkside of the moon taken by a new satellite called Clementine.
Bottom: The Dark Side of the Moon.
43 charges of vandalism dropped:
"as long as the darkness
surrounds me
I am not alone--"
And in these halls
and on these walls
the writings go on and on....
You are never alone, my friend....
Singleton and you are of the same soul family in case either of you didn't know, which I highly doubt!
Poetry smears the page--I love that line. Did you see the movie Into the Wild? It is by far the most poetic movie of 2007; the last movie that matched it in grace was The Hours. I think you would really like this film.
If I still had my literary magazine, I would surely publish this poem.
you are sweltering in rhjyme here sir-better than ever- a high point read for me always
Morning, Eric. So enjoyed this poem. You are a born poet. I think I've been walking on the dark side for a while! Hey, what's this? Why, the sun is coming out!
Donnetta
See you on the dark side of the moon, blogbuddy
Leigh
Mortality sems to be on your mind.
Maybe we blog to try make our thoughts live forever.
My slleve to Dark Side of the Moon loks different. I think they had several versions, because the sleeve I have for Wish You are Here isn't the one my mate has.
The Moon is add, the far side looks so different to the near side- no seas.
I love the images of darkness and dirt as sustaining. As, clearly, are these words.
Sorry things have been quiet from my end. Life practicalities are getting in the way of writing... well, not in the way of writing per se, but the type of writing that I enjoy (which is not the type that, say, spend 40 pages discussing the commonalities between efficacious treatments for borderline personality disorder. Sigh.). Happily, we also found a lovely new apartment to move into soon-- so the time not spent writing for un-fun is spent sizing up bathrooms and so forth. Anyways....
Thank you for the lovely poem. What a delicious ending. It is as though writing is the lemonade when life throws you lemons.
Was somebody holding your candle when you wrote this?
All the classic Eric themes rolled together in a swirling word dance, cool,
I'm drawn to the optimism of the first 4 lines.
As Always Eric...sensationally beautiful....All that is dust will glitter in their eyes... the dimming light of our so-called better judgement reminding me it's not always what we see, but what we think we see...p&l dear Eric!
aha, now i know how you spent the lights out hour! this sounds like some fun.
so much to love about this poem.. this story
these images
"to picking up the pieces -and writing it down!" cheers & love, ~s.
FLOYD...#1 FOREVER!
Oh, and nice poem, too. ;) *L* I love the ending.
i really love your poetry.
Especially liked "our so called better judgment." been there, done that.
It's when those voices keep on chattering that I become disturbed.
'Our clothes are like mountains'
Then the people rolling around in bed must be like gods, somewhere above those craggy fabric ranges.
I think that top photo is what you see of magic mushrooms if you're on magic mushrooms.
"fingers crossed,
we dance on our own graves
because on paper
we live in the forever country"
One of the curious things about media is that they extend our existence in a very real sense. People making silents over 100 years ago are all gone. Yet they live. So does the poetry of the Brownings, and Shakespeare.
One of he benefits of being human.
"All that is dust
will glitter in their eyes
all that is broken
will be whole once again"
Very hopeful.
Poetry in intelegent ...How you writing brings me a step close to sky ???
Nasra
I am soooo happy that i wasnt wrong, just before reading your commentary, i thought about Pink Floyd's Dark Side Of The Moon, which is amazing.
Its just amazing what you say about poetry. And the final line just grabbed me. Poetry is love. Deep deep love.
uh oh, don't tell me you went and got a job again?
I'm still waiting for the truth to prevail. Thanks for stopping by my blog, I've been such a bad blogger lately.
Is it snowing again?
So beautiful.
Peace and love bro, M
It has been a while, but once again, my visit is always worth it.
Man I love the mountain of clothes on the floor. Yep.
Clothes like mountains, hands down best line in this piece.
Miss u Eric.
"Top: Does this really need commentary? I think not.
I'm going with magic mushrooms.. was i right? What do i win ;)
cherry trees stretch up
into the grand blue reaches;
poetry, fallen, layers
lying lush
is the dirt that nourishes them..
you know i've always thought of dirt as un-clean. too often you forget of it's nourishing value. maybe i should eat some.
Yeah, I think Eric has another job.
Huge poetry, huge.
come back soon.
why green ink?
gel? or ballpoint?
enquiring mind(s) want/s to know!
Omg, I fucking love this! And I LOVE the first photo-you should see my kitchen, I have a thing for shrooms. Oh, I've put up some new poems on Fantastical. Hope you've been well! Hugs!
Where have you gone?
Hope you're well :)
Things seem to have gone quiet again...Hope all is well!
As always, your poems probe the deepest parts of your soul. So refreshing how you put these thoughts to words. You always make me think even after I read your poem once,twice, thrice, etc. I come away with a new layer of meaning.
Blessings,
Lance
www.lancessoulsearching.com
know better than to worry this time...
thinking of you ~look forward to your creative return
love, ~s.
You can't see it, but I'm crying over your words. Everyone.
Thank you guys for all the love you've brought me.
And no, it was worse than a job. I've had plenty of them and wrote all night long. I don't really want to regale you all with tales of being homeless for three weeks, so I won't. Besides, there's nothing to say, not really.
I'll be here as long as I can.
Thanks for listening to my ramblings and lines and drivel and occasional flashes of quasi-brilliance.
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