Part One
To whom much is given, much is expected.
It was like a skyscraper had fallen
because of a crack in the pavement.
He never saw the gravity of his own faults,
and that, more than anything, was his tragic flaw.
He fell, like the walls of Troy, from within.
The moon did not run red nor did the Sun purple,
and the vaults of heaven did not crack,
but his heart was broken, it was enough.
He honestly felt that the world would wink.
It would excuse his transgressions;
discount them against his bold accomplishments.
Or even take him on his word of honor
that it was all some misunderstood set of circumstances
He was so, so terribly wrong.
His was an accustomed arrogance
A fruit of the tree of the ‘special man’
A thing grown and nurtured in seemingly every family,
classroom, church, town, or city.
Privilege has its advantages,
But also its limits;
Talent has advantages too
But the weight of it can bend bones.
Talent recognized is a rare event
the world is full of envy.
Like a briar patch of evil wishes
always gathering beneath him- waiting.
His fall was bitterly witnessed by many;
But many more had it foretold.
The briar patch bunch, as he called them.
He had always taunted them.
They were there waiting for him to land;
and the whole thing was a nightmare unfolding.
But faith comes in handy in hard times;
and for him these were his hardest days.
He had always been above these difficulties,
and this was the way he had lived:
carried along on the broad backs
of the strong women in his life.
Now humbled and feeling the stings,
He reached for the familiar sword
and the unfailing shield:
his name and his reputation.
But no, neither his record nor reputation
would shield his uncovered weakness.
Life has an unfriendly calculus for
old news and jaded faith.
Part two
The Light of his Faith shone bright but he was in shadow.
He had known of the Light of Faith since he was a boy.
His Grandmother brought it to him;
It had been passed on through generations
from a long line of his people.
From a slave whose name had been stolen
along with his life;
to an Indian woman who took a runaway man
to her bed.
It found a way through the great purging of the Civil War;
on to the struggling freed people under the
weight of the vengeance of the South.
From Jim Crow to separate but equal;
From segregation to integration;
From indifference to empowerment,
To him: from whining to winning.
Over WEB Dubois to Marcus Garvey
And from Martin to Malcolm to his day
It flowed, by the grace of God,
the light that brought the chosen through.
This Light was the base of his pyramid.
Come to him from the wisest and dearest lips
in all of creation: His Grandmother-
His most precious Nanny.
She was part Cherokee and part African.
Her skin was a wonderful shade of bronze.
When he knew her she was already in advanced years
and a weakened condition of health.
Her life spanned from the previous century
from before many of the States on the map.
Through world wars and the rumors in between;
Oh, the lives and times she had seen.
And he latched on to her from early childhood
like he had imprinted on the sway of her body.
He loved her as life itself.
He spent every moment he could with her.
He especially loved being a fly on her wall
In the kitchen by the big old cast iron stove
When she had coffee and chitchat with friends
“remember when” became a most welcome mantra.
It was the door to a world of his imagination:
Back to farm life in Tennessee;
His Grandpa: the blacksmith on the hill;
His other Grandpa - the WW I Navy man;
To the happy times and the sad times;
births of beloved children;
Sad goodbyes to so many sweet souls-
and Dora- the heartbreak of her life.
Dora was her eldest child.
She was the light of Nanny’s life.
Dora was educated and accomplished
and even from childhood- a natural leader.
She became Pastor of a local church,
which seemed to have the Spirit
because it grew so quickly.
Dora was in her twenties and single.
A man decided to be in love with her.
She told this man and others that she was already wed-
to her faith to her place in the Christian ministry.
Most had to agree because of what they saw in her.
This man pursued on and on.
The entire family there seemed
to have had a role in trying to dissuade this man.
This man would not rest- he determined he would have Dora.
One day after a refusal to his last proposal,
this man apparently lost all reason.
He simply came to the house,
kicked in the door and shot Dora dead.
This man shot Nanny too- she survived –physically.
Nanny's health and life were never whole again,
so when he met her; it was just what was left of her.
It was oh, so much to him, she was his world:
To him, the sun rose and set on her angelic face.
So it was his Nanny who sat him on her knee.
She convinced him that Jesus loved him,
Moses opened the waters, and Daniel defied the lions.
There were days on her personal favorite: King David.
There were light moments too.
He saw her dance across the kitchen
when the Brooklyn Dodgers won the world series
and, of course, Jackie Robinson.
The circle of his life came broken.
The last day he saw her was his first sadness.
She was old and she was sick;
but he would have moved the Throne of Heaven
to kiss her one more time.
From the lives stolen from Africa
to the lives stolen from the mountains of Tennessee;
he knew the Light of Faith
and it had carried his line to him.
It was a weight he ignored most of his life
until a day of revelation came upon him.
In Washington- the seat of freedom-
a place that would later play into his life.
A day while standing on the national mall
as a boy on a bus from New York City.
Listening to a brown skinned Angel sing
and then to a young preacher from Georgia speak:
and how the throng did rise up in a moment
like none he had ever seen before.
The weight fell upon him in that moment
the weight of his line of heroes.
A weight of conscience and realization
that would await in him no longer.
He sat there near the great Lincoln Statue.
He cried, for his young heart was broken:
My people, oh my people, it flooded over him.
He lived as if in a shadow over years of school
and early career. Always finding unhappiness
in his present and fixed on his future.
He always saw the Light but it never seemed to stay.
It seemed to flicker, to appear and disappear.
He learned to see it in glimpses:
like lightning flashes in the dark night
revealing suddenly then gone.
He walked in high places where the eagles
reigned in their lofty Tors, politics was his love.
He was able to know and be known, yet
always unfulfilled and reaching.
Sometimes the spirit found its way into him
And he felt he could move mountains.
Once he sat in a meeting of powers
and listened as they dawdled and would not act.
Finally, as the powers hedged their way
to official inconclusion, he spoke,
a simple five words:
"Gentlemen, we have an agreement"
The powers turned on their heels, back to the big table
they had freshly abandoned and did a little of God’s work.
A few in the room, perhaps so much of so few,
as were in touch with their own Spirits,
looked at him, somewhat amazed at what they had just seen.
They saw it too.
He sat there, a peculiar glow surrounding him.
His Light had done this, but he was not at one with his faith;
He still lurked in its shadow still living in the temptation of
flesh and weakness, unwilling to tell himself:
I give myself to the Light of my Faith.
His mother had warned him: humble yourself before God
Open your heart to Him.
But he couldn’t, like most of the good advice he
received in his life,
he could not let someone tell him what to think.
When he heard his father had died he did not cry,
not a single tear did he shed.
His was a father but not a friend,
that was the sadness:
an unresolved enmity between a father and a son.
He traveled from his place of privilege
back to the poorer roots of the deep south;
and it was a journey of discovery and joy.
Joy in the midst of sadness but joy nonetheless,
a unique and fulfilling kind.
A son comes of age when his Father dies;
there is a passage whether by rites and customs
or by the sheer weight of circumstance:
the man who created you by his body is gone.
He had become important to important people.
They paid for his travel and care,
sent flowers and called to extend
condolences, platitudes well intended.
He stood in a cow pasture bordered by railroad tracks
dilapidated markers and sad old faces.
He picked up a hand full of dirt;
filtered it through his fingers,
and dropped it on the coffin as it was lowered.
He looked into the red clay,turned, and walked away.
He went back to New York City the next day
and sat alone in his hotel room.
He picked up his coat, out into the November cool
and went to a house of pleasures.
He cried in the arms of a hired woman
who held him sobbing softly into her bare bosom.
She made him promise he would come back;
He promised.
He never said goodbye to his Father;
He never grieved with his family
Never had he felt so alone…oh, the joy?
Yes, there was profound happiness in him.
He felt finally that he was a man to his family,
there when they needed him;
that brought him great joy and satisfaction.
Yet once more he lived
in the shadow of the light of his Faith;
his faith required forgiveness and compassion.
He was accustomed to doing this,
but only with people he did not know.
The faceless masses offered no record of prior offenses
so forgiveness was easy;
and compassion was mere lip service.
His Father was a test and he did not pass.
He was not at one with his faith and
he had begun to feel like Dorian Gray:
an outer face and an inner demonic.
Hopefully no one would see, and besides
if he could bear it longer would it even matter much?
He began his steady and unseemly rise.
In this power play he was a player,
in power plays he invented he was a star.
Always power plays some paid and some didn’t
So he went into a paying business
And he prospered, but he couldn’t rest.
And so he rose to his fall.
Fed himself until his fracture with sensibility
left him in a free fall;
left him broken hearted and in ruins.
He had no place to go but up,
but instead he made a cocoon and slept.
But oh, what dreams came to pierce his nights
and set fire to his webbed little world.
Part three
The visit
One day it all changed, he had a special visitor.
He sat down on the end of his bed, more weary than tired.
He felt rather fresh of mind
but his legs and feet needed relief.
Standing at his hobby for six hours,
today seemed more tiring than usual
nothing got finished, frustrating, yes.
There were several projects,
he had just juggled them.
Not feeling it,
and not pressing the issue.
So he sat pensive
and he thought he might simply think a bit.
He found it an increasingly useful habit:
to project his day, week, or month.
He turned his head to look, just a glance,
across the bed to a windowed wall
And when he turned back, a child sat next to him.
A boy sat with his back to him, he was quite startled.
His breath shortened and for a moment he thought:
It is me...as a boy …have I died?
A dread moment of fervent hope came and passed
that the face would not turn and be his.
Then came a sense of quiet and peace,
his breathing restored itself and he heard a voice.
The boy turned his face to profile but his lips did not move,
he simply heard in his mind: "I came here
…to play… because this is a happy place."
He sat and a sense of peace and sadness came over him
Not just sadness from the boy,and
he studied the boy - a plain white tee shirt,
almond brown skin, dark hair; and the amazing sense of peace.
From fear to wonder and now
to wanting him to stay;
and stay the boy did, it was a visit.
He knew it would not last so he savored those moments there.
He just turned his head
to follow a bit of light in the corner of his eye
and turned back to empty space,
and a most strange feeling:
A sense of profound disappointment,
the likes of which he could not recall.
In the front of his mind was the experience he had just had.
He had no one to tell, he was alone.
If he did tell someone, would they believe him?
If they believed or not, what did this all mean?
He closed his eyes and the welling waters cut loose….
In all of eternity why this place, this time, this man.
It was a blessing came a voice within him and
this was the place for a little boy to play and be happy;
because the boy chose this place.
His outlook changed somewhat from that moment:
He no longer had so many doubts about so many things;
He no longer had so many fears over so many things;
He lived a little more intensely and with far fewer plans.
Part Four
By his message of peace even nature might know him.
The path to leadership came at a high price.
He lost the love of his family and friends;
and he became a pariah on streets he had owned.
The doors he had carefully opened- disappeared.
Yet, somehow, he moved: darkness to gray,
and then from gray to the dim penumbra of Light.
He was left with only his talents:
raw but determined, and fixed in repentant Faith.
His leadership was undeniable, transcendent,
grown of peace and full in the promise of the Light.
He began to see the virtue of peace.
No longer thinking of himself as of the warrior caste.
Death did not frighten him any longer
but it seemed more dreadful as he watched young people fall.
He set himself to oppose war and slaughter
under any of the pitiful guises he saw;
he sensed the evil of the war machine
sucking in money and spewing the will to war.
People were drawn to him.
He was made a member of an Indian tribe.
He was given a tribal name by the elder: Bear Paw
using strength to protect- a touching ceremony
with the old Indian man, in the rain and wind, by a lake.
Even nature seemed to see:
he once knelt down and called to a wild raccoon;
it obediently came to his feet, and sat, like a pet.
On another occasion, a half wild horse – white stallion
With strangely colored blue eyes- let him alone ride him,
then nuzzled him like a playful colt in the cool down,
walking from the bridal path to the barn.
Everyone there saw it and they were slightly amazed.
He remembered a story about Gandhi
How a rare bird came and sat on his cane.
Nature does not need to impress us,
But somehow it does, over and over.
Part Five
The promised end has been granted to all in due time.
He had lived much of his life in dread fear of death.
As a child he was, well, phobic about it;
Paralyzing fears of things associated with it.
Perhaps it was that as a baby his grandfather died
While caring for him: actually holding him in his lap when he died.
He had no memory of this.
His grandmother’s death alleviated it somewhat,
But it was the visit with the angel that changed it
and with some sense of finality.
Time is unforgiving as he had often said.
So it was true: The gray and belly fat came faster.
Alluring women were again on his menu.
This time he had accepted some basic realities:
There was a cost to each relationship;
and it would be exacted, whether it were pleasing or not.
His faith required honesty and directness in these too.
It had become simpler: friendships.
He replaced spurious romances with meaningful friendships.
He was surprised to see how much simpler his life was;
friends made fewer demands and tended to add to his life.
For him romantic entanglements were just that.
A grateful sacrifice: the end of romance
and the beginnings of mature relationships with women.
Trust and respect proved to be a powerful aphrodisiac;
It was a happy coincidence of virtue and pleasure.
He had learned to live fully and immersed in the Light.
There was no need to separate the facets of his life
His spirituality was not a barrier to pleasure or pain.
It simply dictated how he might respond.
He realized that so many of the lives he had witnessed
had prepared him for the final phase too.
They had shown how to live and how it would end.
He felt that there was nothing in life
of which to be frightened.
He had already seen hell.
Yes when he died and buried himself
He hid from the Light of his Faith--
and that was hell—the place without the Light.
He felt he had seen part of the mystery;
His faith supplied an element of understanding.
Yes, the difference now, this last part of his journey:
it would be on his terms; and would turn to redemption.
Part Six
and found in his Heart.
He obtained a fitful sense of peace as he made progress,
There were days when he almost forgot his tragedy.
Usually it came rushing back,
often on the heels of an otherwise welcome memory.
He was finally able to see past his great fall
to the things God had given to him.
He accepted his little role in a greater plan;
like everyone else God might use us for something.
The universe needed his thoughts and wishes
to be as subjectively good and complex as it was,
this too was true for everyone.
He no longer required an unique status.
His works spoke for him
and he only wished that
every person might exceed him.
Envy had given way to hope and purpose.
He became able to sense the place within
where only the truth can be: fully and as he knew it.
He began to speak from that place
over time, and it was noticed.
He seemed to just open up
and out of him poured such stirring words.
The people could not just sit and listen;
they rose up and felt full and for doing.
There too did he begin to listen.
For there the voice of his Faith spoke to his Spirit,
and there, in the tender quiet wishes of his heart,
yes there, he found his redemption.
A contest entry
- Howl For Four Thousand Points by Just Rob.
4000 points, ended May 5, 2007, 22 entries
Honorable winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 25 of 25
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this is really cool u have great talent
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u read all this! wow!
thank you so much...PK
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Part one
I love the blatent honesty of the opening stanzas. You use such strong, striking images to contrast with a simple broken heart. The contrast has the amazing effect of while openly downplaying the immensity of broken heart, making it seem all the more serious and troublesome to the reader. I am immediately connected.
Love these lines: Talent has advantages too
But the weight of it can bend bones.
They bear such wisdom, and perfectly reflect your “to whom much is given…” theme for the section.
Again, there is such wisdom in the following stanzas. That our reputation can be “old news” makes a shocking statement that today is what counts—particularly in the light of unfriendly calculus. I'm just in awe of the beauty in which your portray such a heart-wrenching situation.
Part two
There is such a strong ancestral, and historical connection in this section. It has the effect of announcing that all of the social revolution is not really so much the tale of a great mass of people, but rather the collected story of the journey of INDIVIDUALS. The line that sets that off for the reader is “To him: from whining to winning.” It shows that the single soul, learning to become victor over himself and his world, is what truly makes for the kind of change that is passed on.
And as for Grandma—you have completely endeared her to me—from the imprinting upon the sway of her body to her adorable jig across the kitchen when the Dodgers , and Jackie, won. I feel your intense love and adoration for her and cannot help sharing in it. And once so endeared, my heart just breaks with her pain over Dora—such an unimaginable hurt and tragedy. Truly devastaing.
I’ve read this several time now, and I just can’t help but cry.
“The circle of his life came broken.
The last day he saw her was his first sadness.”
At this point I am so drawn into your life and the lives of your family and their inspirations and struggles that my heart just breaks, and this overwhelming realization of the gravity and import of the lives and times. Your description of your own revelation of the plight of your people and of the spark it lit in you was so phenomenal. Again, the raw honesty is just so appealing and convicting.
The story of the meeting of powers and the understanding of where you were at that time in your faith and commitment was just so well done. I think you touch on themes that are common to the human experience and put a tangible expression upon feelings that are difficult to become aware of, let alone articulate.
I loved how you expressed what happened to you when your father died. As a woman, I can’t necessarily identify with the weight that a man takes on in such a case, but you gave me a window of understanding.
Your treatise on the difficulty of true forgiveness there was so well expressed—the contrast between excusing the masses and sincere soul-to-soul forgiveness was point on.
This ending of this section had such an powerful, emotionally riveting climax and denoument, PK.
And so he rose to his fall.
Fed himself until his fracture with sensibility
left him in a free fall;
left him broken hearted and in ruins.
He had no place to go but up,
but instead he made a cocoon and slept.
But oh, what dreams came to pierce his nights
and set fire to his webbed little world.
In all its agony and sadness, it leaves me hope that I will know and see something wonderful eventually come from the cocoon—an amazing resurrection-- when the Light has pierced it, just so. Amazing!
Part three
The visit
An incredible story; I just loved its dramatic retelling and the way you described the significance it had upon you. I loved this line :
He lived a little more intensely and with far fewer plans.
I really missed the thematic quote at the beginning of this section. Was there a reason you chose only to use “the visit” rather than a scriptural allusion or other phrase?
Part four
This section gives such insight into what, I think, makes you so remarkable. It shows the intensity of your passion and yet the gentleness of your soul. The two, in union, can be a terribly effective, powerful force.
I did think saying “they were SLIGHTLY amazed” took a little something away from the amazement that you had just depicted.
Part five
I just fell in love with the transformation of this section. All of the story, the heartaches, the lessons reveal themselves in the fullness of PURPOSE in this section. What a beautiful testament to irresistible Grace and Mercy, and the resilience of a foreordained soul. Just absolutely inspiring, PK.
Part six
Again, you have me weeping. This whole section is so remarkable and beautifully uplifting. This man is not the same man. He bears many of the same traits and emotions, but walks in a different manner, exists by a different breathing, and sees in a fuller Light. I am just totally overwhelmed at this story, again.
(a little unsure of the wording of “felt full and for doing”—I think you mean the people were filled and inspired to take action, but “and for doing” missed that just a bit.” just a bit awkward.)
Well, I finally got the chance to keep my promise to return to this fine work, but though I have commented with many words, they fall so short of the dignity and immense import of this piece. Thank you so much for sharing your redemption story with me, and so many others. The introspection is so raw and beautiful, and I am immeasurably touched. A truly incredible journey.
May your Light grow ever brighter and may your way be made straight, PK.
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This is an amazing opus, and we are all richer people for having read it. If I highlighted my favorite passages my comments would span a page. Few people are able (or willing) to examine themselves with such precision and then reveal the results to others. To paraphrase Socrates, your life is definitely worth living. I wish you every happiness. Peace, Liz
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Mariza has written quite eloquently so there's not much more I could add to it. It's a engrossing prose poem and an adept work of storytelling, but told with a poets touch.
The title is quite apt.
It would be interesting to take this and maybe alter it's structure to be more like prose than poetry. You could add dialogue and lots more storyline...just me rambling. Despite your poetic ability, you also show an ability to create a storyline.
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i have this as a next order of business to get back to this once i finsh my current manuscript, so your thoughts and ideas are appeciated more than you might have known, i am so very grateful...PK
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I can't even begin to say how much I liked this! From beginning to end I was completely immersed into the words. Emotions flow with such an intensity throughout the whole story. It felt like reading the diary of a friend, the sad passages touching deep inside. The tragic death of Dora, the Nanny's broken heart...his journey from darkness to the light.
The depth of the emotions in this write is beyond words.
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thank you Mari-
its such a long piece to read, thanks for taking the time and your wonderful comments...PK
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Wow! Very cool.
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My thoughts are too personal to include in this critique, so I will simply say thank you
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Congratulations on your well~earned honorable mention, PK. Bravo!!!
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The circle of his life came broken.
What a line.
That being said, this was a rich read. I actually know a woman who is half Cherokee and half black, so it was cool to have a good womans face to visualize as the grandmother.
It is a bit prosey, but so full of truly creative and well written lines that it is undeniably poetry. As a non- Christian, a piece so linked to ones faith could leave me with a bad taste. None of that here. The oh-so-healthy humility and clear message of peace and lack of judgement were SO refreshing! I found the images of nature and philosophy to border on Native American and even eastern modes of thought, reminding me how I have been made larger by the sameness of thinking, feeling people of many different religions.
The timeline and historical perspectives were well done as well.
Thanks for a read of such proportion that kept me enthralled all the way through.
Peace
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Didn't have time to finish all of this, but a great read and intriguing story. more prose than poetry, but that's okay too. will come back later.
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An Excellent Read
This was a wonderful journey..and you know, because of the way it was woven, with gentle understanding, and knowledge, it didn't seem that long. Really, and that is amazing..to be able to pen something like this, and hold my attention rapt and steadfast to the end, is the sign of a talented scribe. Excellent work, I could paste all my favorite parts..but that would be like chopping all
the branches off the tree..lol..
Though I loved the stanza about Gandhi, and how nature doesn't need to impress us, but it does continually..
And you do too.
I liked this because i understood it all..no guessing at the intent of this piece, so thank you for that, some get lost in their own content, but you don't.
Excellent penning.
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Thank you Rowan
for your kind words and most welcome and pleasing comments; it is so much appreciated.
I can only say how amazing it is to me that one might sit and read such a lengthy piece and comment, it is a gesture that leaves an impression and touches me ... thank you...PK
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Ah, figured it out- it's called 'quick comment'
-He never saw the gravity of his own faults,
wow- you honestly could not have said it better- this is perhaps the tragic flaw most of us have- some way more blinded than others- I can say this certainly described me, up until I was about 27 when God (or perhaps my own experience) rudely awakened me. This entire stanza is absolutely brilliant, but it would not have gotten the meaning across without this line- it would have just been a nice cryptic, and extremely amazing way to say something, and then people would have discussed your image for the next 500 years, and there'd be a million theories about what you meant- I'm glad you said it straihgt! lol
Next stanza is simply amazing- you created amazing appeal by alluding to Troy- excellent.
He honestly felt that the world would wink.
It would excuse his transgressions;
discount them against his bold accomplishments.
Or even take him on his word of honor
that it was all some misunderstood set of circumstances
He was so, so terribly wrong.
Wow, this is so my life, so everyone's life - and it's such an innocent way of seeing the world, we don't even question this part of ourselves- it's almost unconscious!
I think the line about arrogance can potentially limit your poem, because what you are describing, though it is most obvious in arrogant men, it describes even those who seem humble. I think the root of it is arrogance, but most people die never even realizing they had any arrogance- though this was their major flaw hidden even from themselves.
You are right- the arrogance is the root of it all, but unfortunately people would read this, and think you are speaking of the 'obvious arrogant.' (This definitely is essential to your poem though!)
"They were there waiting for him to land;
and the whole thing was a nightmare unfolding." Just love the most all the lines that show starking realism.
Come to him from the wisest and dearest lips
in all of creation: His Grandmother-
His most precious Nanny.
This line reminds me of my own granny, and will do the same for every last person who reads this- extremely well written!
"it was his Nanny who sat him on her knee.
She convinced him that Jesus loved him," How easy it is to believe as a child, and it is a faith that stays child like through our entire lives, until some terrible tragedy hits that chokes it...and for some people it lasts their entire lives (ie ministers, theologians), I am so jeous of such people!
"But he couldn’t, like most of the good advice he
received in his life,
he could not let someone tell him what to think."
wow, exactly how most people are.
I loved the part about the boy in part three.
"raw but determined, and fixed in repentant Faith.
His leadership was undeniable, transcendent,
grown of peace and full in the promise of the Light."
I love this stanza- it is so strong, and encouragement to us all- the way the entire poem led up to it, put's it into it's proper context - and that's it's something we all can be.
"There was no need to separate the facets of his life
His spirituality was not a barrier to pleasure or pain.
It simply dictated how he might respond."
What an amazing lesson to share with us all.
Well, those are the passages that really grabbed me. The images were just as amazing, and all the allusions you created were incrediblly placed.
What I am most impressed with is- this couldn't be your own journey - you are getting the skin of another, and people who can write such poetry simply amaze me. It takes real story telling, and writing skill to do that. I never saw you as a novelist before- but now I am thinking you'd be a great short story writer- the next John Steinbeck - he wrote what he knew but not angst or self centered stuff- truely historical and cultural enlightening stuff. Great job - what can I say!
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Where is that little drop down comment box when you need it- sometimes it shows up and sometimes it doesn't, and this time it didn't - irk!!!! This is brilliant, and I wanted to point out a million areas that I thought were absolutely perfectly said! Drat. Is there a way we can get that little floating comment box? Don't worry- this isn't my comment- I'll leave a 'real comment' when I figure out how to say it all. I guess I will have to do it the long way: cut, scroll down, paste, back up, cut, scross down, paste, back up..
I'll be back. This is brilliant- if it doesn't win, the judge is deaf, or doesn't know how to read, or have wisdom- who knows. Okay- well I guess I better wait to judge it til I read the other poems in the contest, but hey, I'm judging it against life itself, against the laws of the universe- and this is pretty darn straight, and well said.
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A Brilliant Piece of Work,
You have just shared with me a delightful feast of life, the ups, downs, I was engrossed by each word. This was worth the time it took to read, visualize the full body of your journey. You my friend have the most magnificent makings of a novel or auto-bio here. The last verse of this read was myself looking into a mirror. Being part Seminole, I reaclled the wind spirit becoming one with me on my quest for my path. I hope you write a book. You have the knack to be a dynamic a story teller. God bless....my poet friend...novy
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Thank you Novy
I had to stop what I was doing to reply here, I can't believe you read this whole thing, oh boy! Thank you and I am humbled by your touching comments. There was meant to be a spiritual side in this and I am glad you saw it, so nice. A book ..don't know but there are some more chapters on my desk.. so we will see...again thank you so very much...PK
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I have bookmarked this to read again and comment appropriately - but reading through once, this is brilliantly done. It kept my attention and had me enthralled.
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Thank you Wings
I am a big fan of your work but reading this long piece is above the call of duty... thank you so much...PK
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"Privilege has its advantages,
But also its limits;
Talent has advantages too
But the weight of it can bend bones.
Talent recognized is a rare event
the world is full of envy.
Like a briar patch of evil wishes
always gathering beneath him- waiting."
Sighhh...I understand these lines completely...I grasped all of it quite well, actually...What an amazing piece this is, my Friend...An epiphany if I've ever heard one...Such an incredible telling of a life...I know the path was a winding, rocky one...& there were inevitable stumbles along the way...Ahhh, but here you are, scars & all...living your Faith as only you can...Very impressive, Poet...Good luck in Rob's contest... Wanda
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Epic Excellence
(Part 5 - 1st stanza u need an 'h' in things), if this is a story of a journey of your life then I am hooked on you! For the journey you have taking not only winds through paths and roads with forks, some good and some bad but it also takes the reader on the story of a man who has his mind changed by people in his life, knowledge of people who went before him long ago, yet he remains committed to aiding a cause that maybe only his heart started to realise late in life. Kind sir, this is one of the most brilliant and deeply moving stories I have had the pleasure to view, and it felt short lol because I hung on every stanza and every word, you should be justly proud of yourself for producing it. Love, C
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Thank you Chez,
for your kind words and touching comments, much appreciated...
First, how could anyone read something this long? amazing, you deserve applause...
second thanks for the edits...
last... I am ever so grateful and thankful for your time and attention here... PK
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Dear poet,I shall have to leave a fuller comment later,I shall bookmark and return,kudos
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