Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
beguiling time
time beguiles, I give in to it the tiny birds sit on my hand chirpy faces stare at me I can't confront what I don't comprehend two difference life forces merge into each other
Great question at the end, tying into my favorite lines "I can't confront what I don't comprehend." You express a contemplative, perhaps unanswerable, search very well.
I wonder if St. Francis had to confront what he didn't understand; or if he understood what others couldn't comprehend. I always thought of him like Van Gogh with special talents to whisper to horse and speak to the birds. His abilities however probably have turned to stone as Van Goghs have dried on canvas. Never in either case, to be duplicated. Interesting piece. Thank you. Gay
Lovely poem, Gautami! I like how the narrator begins complacent in his situation and then challenges himself more and more: how can two unlike beings merge, and finally "When did I turn to stone?" Good progression, good points. Love
time beguiles, I give in to it
20 comments:
Time, we all must give in.
Sometimes we turn to stone because of the cards dealt our way!
Great question at the end, tying into my favorite lines "I can't confront
what I don't comprehend." You express a contemplative, perhaps unanswerable, search very well.
in a false sense to protect ourselves maybe...
Very nice. And if you turn to stone, you know what the birds will use you for...
cute magpie,
keep wondering, bless you.
Succinct, but with so many layers of meaning. Beautiful.
So meaningful and rich.
Gorgeous - so succint
Nice One Shot, Gautami... solid as a rock! :)
I wonder if St. Francis had to confront what he didn't understand; or if he understood what others couldn't comprehend. I always thought of him like Van Gogh with special talents to whisper to horse and speak to the birds. His abilities however probably have turned to stone as Van Goghs have dried on canvas. Never in either case, to be duplicated. Interesting piece. Thank you. Gay
keep it up.
check out short story slam and welcome your submission.
Intriging.
When? I know not, so I must continue moving before I become a stationary masonary. Nice/ Should "difference" read "different"? Just wondering.
A mystical take on an unusual prompt
Time stops for no one...
some life's going on while other things die...
A great economy of language and very expressive.
Lovely poem, Gautami! I like how the narrator begins complacent in his situation and then challenges himself more and more: how can two unlike beings merge, and finally "When did I turn to stone?" Good progression, good points. Love
So often we choose to ignore what we don't understand.. I think you have brought that tendency very beautifully here, Gautami...
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