The Eastern storm finds them not.
Lisa with the cornbread in an old black tin
fishing through the journal
looking for a glossy shot;
a mage of ordinary lanes
drifting into misty indifference
a glade
glistening on an ordinary day.
He says
“there is no poem for ordinary”
She sighs and turns the page,
it crackles with delight
being what it is and nothing more.
She brushes the hair from her eyes
and smiles,
“but nothing worse,” she says,
slicing the cornbread with a sharp knife.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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i think all three Walnut Bottoms. -
This is a cozy, summer day of yesteryear. It makes me think of simpler times and rustic pleasures. Intriguing snapshot of life. Kudos!
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well done
Flows nicely and creates a warm and interesting image.
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Nice
Oh how some from the olden days can take ordinary and make it into the day to remember forever
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I love the way the page crackles when one listens. It hisses too against the brushing fingers or palm as they turn. I like to stop when I'm reading and let it soak in; what I've read and the silence of not reading, the noise of the dry pages. If what I'm reading doesn't make me want to notice, then it can't be very good at all, it must put meat back on my bones.
Cornbread'll put meat on the bones too. Course, one can't just dive face first into the serving dish or the pan and chow away like some barbarian. That wouldn't do at all. It must be sliced and enjoyed with a large spoon, some smoked meat, wilted collard greens sweetened with orange juice, and perhaps a roasted pepper, cheese, and a bit of thick sour cream.
there's a poem for everything
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So many interpretations I have made of this. -- these simple images
cornbread
black tin
brushing hair from the eyes
smiles
sharp knife
all together make up something so glittering and shiny. So -- well, magical. Maybe that's the point sometimes -- the old "I bought the kid a toy with all the bells and whistles and he loved the box it came in" Stuff about poetry in here I think -- that's what I see.
being what it is and nothing more.
I know this person, a good friend of mine, always tells me "I'm just me"
and its the best thing, that.
I like the cornbread that they make at the local take out rotisserie chicken shop. I buy a dinner sometimes for delivery to someone else and never tell them that I eat the free piece of cornbread before I get the chicken to their table. Well, it is just a small square but made real good, light and not all heavy and dry.
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they wore real names
because it makes poetry sound more real
at least that's what they've learned
in the poetry school
but the names they call themselves
they can not pronounce
and the river flows nowhere yet
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Somehow this poem goes with the avatar picture.
The words I am seeing with my eyes don't seem to be the words that the poemcentre of my brain is seeing. That is seeing two (not so) children fishing, with their bait box that they half eat themselves and half use to catch the fish. It also sees some leg swinging from tree branches and jetties.
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now that's love, and it should be, warm like cornbread yellow and the pages of poetry pluming in words and conversations and lilting eyes, men have a thing about women's eyes - yes ???
a life time of looking me thinks
this is Luteman at his best, no fancy frills just honest words and dancing eyes
yepp
me be liking
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