my hours my witnesses
you have seen
how i have carried the hot tinder flame
of my love, the tides of her moments, her moods
like a sacred relic tied to the dark corners of
my silent grotto
how i have lit the dark recesses of
my unrequited passion
with the promise of words alone
how i have unlayered dismembered
the hope of of those promises the passions
of those sunsets
you have seen
the agitation of my heart
as it grieves and wounds and thrashes
against the tides of unbecoming unresolving chains
i know the hot touch of my fingers
have asked for the mooney mounds of your skin
the hooks of your skin
you have seen
i have asked but asked seldom
my hours my witnesses
you have seen
i am ragged with desire, for the
water of your mouth the burning
incense of your thighs
i am willing to pray to seek intercession with
saints holy men scripts amulets
unjudge everything and uncast myself
at the altar of your high temple
you have seen
how dark this fever how unwilling to recede
this ache pain numbness want
my hours my witnesses
you must testify
to this defeating promise
to the tides moons moments of
her moods whims
i tie her like a sacred relic to the inner
layers of my skin want moods desire
you have seen
my hours my witnesses
you have seen
Una respuesta extensa
7 years ago
5 comments:
i am still not ready to write about this, but i will -
Sisyphus, hi.
thanks for commenting.the 'tad technological' is interesting. you must tell me more. don't be so cryptic!i think you may be right. that 'love' means nothing in itself is true. what it gives that moment or moments is different. this 'poem' of mine is a self conscious attempt at remembering. perhaps love is only remembrance.
i am glad that you actually liked the 'son' poem. that is all i can say about it.
i am also glad that you have broken your silence. see, what i can do sometimes? this famas thing is a silly fad.
hello again
i am not the best person to defend your writing about love and loss, since i write about the same thing and it could be easily understood as a plea pro domo :-) i can only say that i find a general view somewhat useless, since 'love' and 'loss' mean different things for every one of us and they become important (or not) only by means of what we are able (or not) to invest them with.
i think your poem would gain a lot if you condensed the expression more, concentrating on fewer lines which then would become more powerful, like explosions in the psyche - because there are lines which work like this for me: for ex.
i am willing to pray to seek intercession with
saints holy men scripts amulets
unjudge everything and uncast myself
at the altar of your high temple.
and i especially like the last stanza, that perfect "i tie her like a sacred relic to the inner
layers of my skin" which has been obsessing me ever since i read it for the first time. but more than all this, i think there is one line which is in itself an entire poem, pure and simple - great is the word for it: "i have asked but asked seldom". if it were only for this line, and this poem should have been written and read.
Hello Roxana
thanks. you make this 'poem' sound better than it is. for me, the poem exists in a verbal mode, a sort of incantation. thus this one has a beating insistent rhythm, which i translated into words. the repitition is thus the result of that. it can be condensed but i would not then be faithful to the exigency of that mood. mood is all.
in other words, after re-reading this poem tonight, i find it as more of a plea than a remembrance or a plea to remember. a plea to not forget that mood.
re love or loss, i agree, we invest this word with too much and too man things. a word too 'profane, too disdained'.....byron i think?
and yes, your women photos do remind me of loss. sometimes of regret. or both.
anyway, take care.
where are you?
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