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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: In the woodworkdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Jester_Gesture
    ASL Info:    23/f
    Elite Ratio:    3.41 - 365/459/201
    Words: 140
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 541
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 970



    Description:
       Show me that you're still here, somewhere.


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

    dotsIn the woodworkdots
    -------------------------------------------


    It's a finite moment.
    I long for the untouchable.
    I remember, and cannot exhale again,
    until the memory passes
    and the pendulum swings back
    the wooden heart hanging
    from a once unpluckable string.

    I couldn't even give you specifics
    on what I miss, exactly.
    I am not desiring particulars.
    I simply desire particles
    of what was.
    What has been.
    Oh, what has been!
    What has been?

    But nobody gives a damn.
    It happened, and it's gone,
    and I can't fight the clock now.
    I wouldn't want to, if I could.

    But I keep looking back
    and wondering what might have been
    and asking myself what I might become
    if I forget you.

    And then the pendulum swings again
    and I see a wooden heart
    with your name carved into one side,
    fading slowly in the wind.




    Submitted on 2011-01-22 02:06:25     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Tense: an attitude toward time?

    What power has an image if it is an image of the past? How many hops on a lily pad to that possibility, which, when the instant arrived, failed to materialize? Is there, somewhere, a closet stuffed with alternate dimensions, hesitations, choices for a life not better, not necessarily better, but beautiful in its own right?

    I find in this poem so much wisdom, hard earned. Reflection when the iron has cooled, when it is no longer white hot. Because, yeah, time is a back and forth, a to and fro, an over and over, a fresh start, if only merely in the imagination. But the memory will erode, surely as the metronome lulls us to gentle and unwilling slumber!

    Your words are always, to me, endlessly wise and effortlessly poignant. The triumph here, in these words, is your affirmation of "what has been." It is so solid, it's not, but it is so solid. It is unforgettable. The body, the person that has become, will not let the person that merely "is" forget it. Something happened, so far away and far away in time, but it is part of here and now, and there is no other side, even though, of course, there might be.

    This poem also has a coldness to it, a slow coldness of wood, of future. But it's not an unwelcome cold. For whatever reason, it makes me feel sort of warm and fond inside.

    How are you doing? What holds in the fullness of your future?
    | Posted on 2011-02-20 00:00:00 | by Aaron Felix | [ Reply to This ]
      goodness gracious...I really liked it. You did a great job.
    | Posted on 2011-01-26 00:00:00 | by Forgiven | [ Reply to This ]
      I like the imagery and the reference back to the clock/time. It goes together well. The closure is a nice touch.
    | Posted on 2011-01-24 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ]


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