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Poems on the fly

***
I DON'T ALWAYS KNOW WHERE THIS STUFF COMES FROM


This one, however, was somehow inspired by my good friend el_jefe59. That's all I can say because it just comes out after that and I'm not myself today. Or maybe I am:


My soul laments not for the death of unicorns,
Or leprechauns, or forest sprites
Great and small,
For they live in worlds too bright
For pessimism, and realism,
and absurdism.
I save my breath for other lamentations,
Like friends grown cold,
Sweet nothings left untold,
Gaps that ever crack and widen
‘til grips lose their hold
And hermetic spirits drop one by one
Into their empty abyss of lonesome luxuries.
I am Jack
Of all trades
With my fistful of beans,
But who would test their magic?
I see them come and go,
No time to stop, but practiced smiles,
And rolling eyes, and sweet white lies in tow,
They scurry along for oh their many miles.
I turn the corner.
A worn old man sits stooped at the curb
With the heart of a poet
Under wrappings of dry brittle grass
Held together by tears long since dried.
I ask if he’s ever seen a little magic
In his life, and get his attention.
His back straightens a bit.
His head cocks to the side.
He opens his hand, and with a twinkle in his eye,
Just as I look inside, he is gone.
And from far far away, there is laughter once again
To tickle my ear
And make me smile,
Even in quiet lamentation.

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Comments

( 8 comments — Leave a comment )
el_jefe59
Jul. 12th, 2006 08:24 pm (UTC)
I inspired that? Really? Wow!
theresaboo
Jul. 12th, 2006 08:29 pm (UTC)
You rock
Who are you? The old man...or the kid he's showing his hand to? =)
metaphorsbwithu
Jul. 12th, 2006 09:12 pm (UTC)
Re: You rock
Wow, Theresa, I don't think anyone ever told me that. Thank you.

I write from impressions and experiences and associations mostly and, although I have a kernal of some idea in the back of my mind, simply put down what comes to me. I also like each person to get out of my words whatever their own mind experiences. I suppose we are all the old man and the young man at different times in different ways. I do wonder myself if the boy's beans had any magical powers and what he saw in the old man's hand ... if anything.
aspoor
Jul. 13th, 2006 02:59 am (UTC)
Re: You rock
Something was in his hand... but we may never know what, unless you discover it yourself!
amaliadubois
Jul. 13th, 2006 02:38 pm (UTC)
beautiful
metaphorsbwithu
Jul. 13th, 2006 02:59 pm (UTC)
Thank you K. You always seem to know the right things to say. :)
amaliadubois
Jul. 13th, 2006 04:44 pm (UTC)
? ..now that confuses me
metaphorsbwithu
Jul. 13th, 2006 05:56 pm (UTC)
At first I thought you were teasing, like you caught the meaning of the poem but didn't get my comment to your comment. Then I thought, no, she's really asking what I meant.

If it's the first (like my yellow table digs), hahaha! If it's the second, I meant that your comments whenever I put up a poem or pic, your comments are short but get to the point. In all modesty, I think this is is a beautiful, if rather sad, poem to.

But I'm curious as well. Art means different things to different people, but the poem is a metaphor. Do you know what it means to me?
( 8 comments — Leave a comment )

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