Blue veins, placid, deep, calm currents of turbulence
with mirrors; a tempest still storms, spites in their wake.
What I lost, you give anew, what I have, you take,
to gift a breath, an innocent experience,
clear as winter mourning her end. I have bidden
mine, come, an age ago. Yet, fallen tides rise, spread
forth in tender rhythms that undress in our bed.
Quicksilver eye lashes long at shades I’ve hidden,
sleeping with a humid, swollen sun, clouding this
farewell. Such spirit en plein-air is admired
by guilty ripples I skip. I cannot dismiss
a punishment: with cruelty, what is desired
flows ever near, slow, closer than a stone whose bliss,
cold, transpires in garlands of your fluent kiss.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Aquarelle
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23 comments:
and i was expecting a poem about the Big East.
silly me
That's a beautiful painting - spontaneous and masterful use of color and brushstroke, yet expressing subtle humor by placing 'the other' on a pedestal. Your poem reflects the image very well. The closer we draw to the ultimate reality the more we realize its essentially unknowable, ephemeral nature.
Nice one, Randal.
Excellent! Divine poetry, how thrilling. You do have talent you know and you should be trying to get published. At least that is what I think.
Wonderful! What a pleasant surprise to find such poetry this morning.
Oh Randal- you nailed this one. While they are always worthy, pithy and precise, this one flows ever so nicely. I got a pang of jealousy, even. Quite nice. (and, listen to Lib.)
I would only repeat what Susan said. This is indeed beautiful. And yes, Lib and Freida said is true--you should be published.
Sex, sex, sex, Randal, always sex....I bow to the master!
I can imagine these words going through the mind of Apollo. Or someone else about to realize that the one they seek is beyond their grasp.
Nice poetry Randal. Very nice.
This was wonderful.
Graves, you swine!
I think Aquarelle was the brand of hairspray my mother used.
Regards,
Tengrain
Dude, did you watch King James on 60 minutes tonight?
oh, and the poem...very cool m'dear, very cool. ;)
dcap, an Ode to Rick Pitino's White Suit?
susan, the poem, like the chicken or the egg, came first. I was looking for a watercolor, thought of Sargent, et voilà. The great poetical conceit of immortalizing that most horrid of emotions is like that statue. Close, but as so often, the inspiration remains out of reach, a memory of what you can't ever have.
liberality, merci, I'd have to find a place to submit something first!
bubs, thanks, but where was the praise for that Misfits youtube? ;-)
FB, jealousy? That's about as high a compliment as there is. Thus, I blush.
utah, but isn't all poetry that's published these days postmodern hipster aloofness? Seems all I write about is the same crap they've been writing about for centuries.
afeather, it's not like it's solely about the physical!
mrmacrum, that's the sentiment, there, then gone. Thank you.
mauigirl, merci!
tengrain, I've always wanted to pen a tribute to hair care products.
dusty, no, but I saw the shot. 60-13! And thanks. ;-)
Outstanding.
You truly have a gift, Randall.
Stop giving us these jewels. Send them to gorgeous literary magazines that will pay you nothing and you will get no instant feedback from. Never mind, keep giving us your beautiful work. You are mind blowingly talented.
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
This Winter sucks
& the Last one did
Too!!!
-ok jimm
bar room poet& beer connie-sewer
I can only echo what the others said. great stuff and you are one of the few people that can write poetry that I can dig.
There is a surreal, delicate elegance to this one, RG. I don't pretend to understand it, yet I like it.
That, sir, is a formidable compliment.
While I'm waxing complimentary, a h/t to okjimm, who expressed my feelings about the climate I'm trapped in and The Winter That Knows No End. Well, he expressed my feelings minus the expletives, anyway.
chef, thanks. I think you all dig my stuff more than I do.
LBR, I've read some of these literary magazines. I don't think my stuff is weird/modern enough for their palate.
okjimm, there once was a man from Wiconsin,
hated winter like Jeebus hates sin,
so he drank a lotta beer
and some donuts I sweer,
now hates winter from the looney bin
BB, thank you, sir.
SWA, thanks, but I can't spill all the hidden biographical details for it would ruin the half-assed mystery.
Is it still snowing in your parts?
All lilies are poisonous to cats.
Snowing here? Oh yes, 4 inches on the weekend broke the season-snowfall record of 50 years' standing. (We almost broke that record last year.) Today, we had a violent hailstorm with thunder and lightning. In March, we had two days where the temperature went above 50. Our normal high this time of year is in the low 50's and the normal low is 32; we've gone as low as 10 degrees a couple of times and spent a week plus with lows in the teens. Overall, highs run five to 10 degrees below normal, which has been the dominant pattern since, oh, mid-November.
I.HATE.IT!
I'm never posting my poetry again. or until someone wraps me in the garlands of their fluent kisses. le sigh.
I'm sorry I didn't see this sooner. Gorgeous.
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