Not me. We.
Each of us pours marrow and
sinew, bone and blood through
the last and the next and
the right-there-beside-us.
Without Shakespeare there is no
Bukowski. Without Frost there
is no Clifton. And so on and
on - ad infinitum.
Without You there is
No We.
We are there, in your laughter lines,
in the sweet taste of your wife, the
tree you see silhoutted against the fat moon,
your dreams for your children,
the snot from your sneezes, aches
of unfulfillment and victories.
In your fingertips, noses,
genitals, toes, eyelashes
and foreheads -
We are there.
And your death.
We are there then too,
perhaps especially so.
We will tell you your life
in six stanzas
and a footnote.
And if we tell it just so,
You will believe us.
Enough
3 months ago
5 comments:
Well done Ms. Russel.
Hi Anna!
I was worried something had happened to you.
'Without You' there is no 'Incoherent Ramblings'!
Hope all is well with you.
Map.
Thank you Gerry - I'm sorry it's been so long since I've caught up with your work.
Hey Map! Thanks for dropping by. I've gone back to college and I've just been too busy to blog - the odd poem gets posted here, but that's really about it for now. Hopefully it'll calm down soon and I can get back to at least catching up with everyone :)
No probs hon. Now back to them books!
xxx
I'm not. I'm not a poet in any sense of the word.
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