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    dots Submission Name: a gypsy gift.dots

    Author: freeradical
    ASL Info:    22/feline/london
    Elite Ratio:    5.26 - 311/405/63
    Words: 341
    Class/Type: Poetry/Love
    Total Views: 1510
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 2269

       True story... I him last night. It was too early, I wasn't ready. I hope I get another chance.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsa gypsy gift.dots

    I stumbled into him
    on my way to

    He had a guitar,
    a smile
    and eyes that held me,

    He sang me a love song,
    told me that he saw the world
    in my eyes.

    I saw the universe in his.

    He told me my necklace was
    a favourable spiritual sign,
    affected a patois that fell
    in and out as his thoughts changed.

    Sang me No Woman No Cry.

    Then just played.

    I imagined that his tanned, capable fingers,
    picking strings and strumming chords
    were on my body-
    the haunting song he played
    one of love making,
    soul fusing.

    And when I was brave enough
    to hold the stare
    that somehow knew all my secrets
    and moved me into
    being half of something,
    rather than all of myself-
    when I was brave enough to do so,
    I saw that it was me
    he was touching so beautifully.

    It was me,
    he was speaking to,
    chords and notes
    in place of sweet nothings.

    I asked him what his favourite thing
    in the universe was-
    he changed the topic.

    Gypsy woman that I am,
    proud and haughty
    with scarves and bells
    and challenging stares
    fell prey to timidity
    and blushes.

    He pressed a ring into my hand,
    called it a gypsy gift
    with the quirky, half smile
    that lit up his whole face.

    A diamond ring
    that coincidentally fit perfectly
    on the finger we all hold so dear.

    He put his hand to my chin,
    our first physical contact
    and raised my gaze to the
    evening sky.

    That, is my most favourite thing
    he said.

    And sauntered off, alone again
    save his guitar
    and his gypsy charm.

    The ring is on my finger,
    his smile in my mind.

    Gypsies don't have phone numbers,
    or the ability to last,
    (being one, I know this)
    but I will still look for him,
    in every face that passes.

    Submitted on 2007-09-16 14:09:51     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

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    5: Wow!

    ||| Comments |||
      People in Elite really want me to start walking naked outside with poems on my chest. I just came from Icarus' page reading his "Miss Holiday Golightly" and I have yet to get over the effects. And then came this piece.

    (sits down)

    This is beautiful.

    The simplicity of the language did wonders because it made the piece seem as though you are not showing of your talent but merely speaking from the heart to a stranger who probably doesn't think that there is poetry in everything. It makes the poem seem easy and it lets the reader take in every word in a story that seems rather simple only to be brought to their knees by that emotionally rattling ending.

    Sure, every line is important in any piece. But this one felt like the entire piece revolved around the ending - which I think is a wise choice to make because the ending of this piece is just heartbreakingly beautiful.

    (plays No Woman No Cry - Marley version of course - on PC)

    The flow of the piece is also well-played. It was also easy but, like the language, it was appropriate. It felt like you were either panting or overwhelmed near some window somewhere with a cigarette, beer or a chocolate bar (whichever you prefer) and you are merely telling me a story that your heart allows you to tell at a hopeful pace.

    I think that it is experiences like this that make life worth living. I mean really, a large part of our existance revolves around hope. And knowing this kind of hope, this kind of promise for happiness and this kind of need to tell yourself to be ready the next time is really one of those elements that make you want to keep going.

    And regardless of how tricky it is to put that in paper, you were able to do it without stripping the strong sense of magic that makes it completely worth taking in.

    You make me want to write more.
    | Posted on 2007-10-26 00:00:00 | by ANGELO | [ Reply to This ]
      im typing one fingered/ left handed so have pity on my spelling lol

    i adore your story here.
    there are ppl we encounter so briefly and randonmly and are left for days afterward wishing for a second encounter so we can behave in a more conscious/less flustered way...
    this seems like one of those moments

    i LOVE the world/universe parallel.
    its so real and while the universe is something awe inspiring in some ways i would be awkward and ashamed to be seen with the world in my eyes... the world being so broken and heartless at the best of times...

    no woman no cry... interesting it would be that song... when i was in venice wandering around at sunset there were two men with guitars hiding behind a statue practicing before fibding the ultimaye busking spot later that night. i hid from their view and listened to them play and sing their italian songs. one of them saw me and invited me closer and they continued to play... they didnt know english and i didnt know italian but when they started playing no woman no cry and i sang my language and they theirs the contrast ans harmonies were gorgeous...

    i hope you find him again some time soon...
    | Posted on 2007-09-28 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]
      wistfully gorgeous
    i have to go bury myself in some ben and jerrys and a box of tissues now


    | Posted on 2007-09-26 00:00:00 | by blu_kittin | [ Reply to This ]
      I went to a concert last Thursday night. I was in the front where eye contact was possible between me and the singer - Mat Kearney... And this reminded me of those moments when he would look at me and sing. I loved this.
    It was easy to read and very vivid. I almost felt like it was my chin he was raising and it was my finger that he put the ring on.

    | Posted on 2007-09-23 00:00:00 | by borderlinetears | [ Reply to This ]
      I don't know what it is about guys with guitars (acoustic especially) that girls find so mesmerizing. I wish I could play the guitar. I've tried, but I can't do it. So, instead, I play the piano and keyboards. It's easier than the guitar in many ways.

    I think that Gypsies are very cool. I personally have never met one, but someday I might.

    Hee hee pretty shiny diamond rings!
    | Posted on 2007-09-20 00:00:00 | by manwithnoname | [ Reply to This ]
      An intruiging story, perhaps more interesting since it's true. My only poetical suggestion would be to remove line thirty-five "when I was brave enough to do so" because a proper reader would be following with your trail of thoughts and it somewhat lowers the poems status. My personal suggestion would be to take his ring off your finger but keep his smile in your mind. Being a gypsy is a hard way of life, and one that you obviously chose, knowing as you do now, that things like this might happen. Good luck with life.

    | Posted on 2007-09-16 00:00:00 | by DeepDreamer2008 | [ Reply to This ]
      hahahaha.. dudee!! I logged on after a couple weeks.. saw the last few submissions, and i was all "yeahh this title works i m gonna read it" and whose picture do i see!?!?! Coinscidence.. I guess not that big of a coinscidence but, still a coinscidence.. lol. And I totally know how to play no woman no cry.. and I m listening to bob Marley right now.. another coinscidence..

    ..so much for commenting on the poem.. i shouldn t comment on your poems anyways..!! later kiera beso!
    | Posted on 2007-09-16 00:00:00 | by brunov68 | [ Reply to This ]

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