I woke up with the taste
her words on my finger tips:
Crisp tang of apples threaded
with the bite of brandy,
a last cigarette, trailing
smoke, a path into the night sky.
Her hands, open
beckon me to let silence
still my tongue,
follow the flight of sparrows,
become tangled like a kite’s tail
in the open capillaries of trees.
I rise from my bed,
leave dreams struggling
gasping for air.
I stand in the window light
watching my skin
go from pink to white.
Wonder what kisses I will find
in the caress of the breeze.
There is magic abroad. I
can feel her weight pressing
like a memory trying to be remembered.
As if a bubble of history escaped death
burst into my present and set off alarms.
We are, but, remnants of forever.
Unpuzzling our connection
as the gears of the “Great Machine”
keeps manufacturing a more mundane
rational explanation for why
I can taste her meaning
when she whispers a breeze past my ears.
9:27 PM
11/29/08
Alexandria, VA
Author notes
My inspirations are people, love, relationships probably more than anything else. My own spirituality and belief in the magic of the world finds its way in because it is part of what I breathe. Hope this helps. Being uninspired always feels to me like a part of being lost.
In a list
- Silence • next in list
- Other Poets-Imagery Defined • next in list
- spectacular poets, and their divine words • next in list
A contest entry
- Take Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone... by ShatterglassSecret.
1700 points, ended December 13, 2008, 23 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think, what it makes you feel, how you are moved.
Comments
1 - 62 of 62
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I was drawn from the very first line. Just awesome. Just beautiful until the very end. I felt like I was in the poem, this was just...awesome.
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Thank you very much. I try to create a sense of being, let the reader share my feelings so they can be in the moment with me as I make my discoveries. What is really nice, sometimes I succeed. Thank you, again, for letting me know I did this time.
Peace & Light,
Tom B.
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wow brava good job keep it up i love this poem
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thank you, my friend. It is but the dance of love in poetic verse.
Peace & Light,
Tom B.
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phew
what a shiny composition of feelings
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Thank you. I am glad to hear your delight.
Peace & Light,
Tom B.
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You create worlds with words that we should all desire to inhabit. The trick is learning that we can, with something as simple as a change of perspective... An exceptional write!!!
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Wonderful to know my worlds are so inviting. It is often an act of bravery to share them so intimately. Thanks,
Love,
Tom B.
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Yes, interesting and intriguing piece, done in the contemporary manner with many excellent pharsings and flourishes throughtout!!
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Thank you. As Wallace Stevens said, "In modern verse metaphor is king." Withoug the tie of rhyme the piece must be unified by vision and stirred by symbol and metaphor. Thanks fo taking the time to share your thoughts.
love, Tom B.
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amazing.
i love the rhythm in this one, and the way it's so full of personification and metaphores. it's simply amazing. good job.
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Thanks. I enjoy lyricism and creating visions that will bring forward responses in my reader. So much of what art "is" is found not in mentation but in the inner universes of feeling and emotion.
Love,
Tom B.
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Excellent
A very fine write. You've expressed yourself quite well, indeed. Thanks for sharing this one with us. Again, well done. -
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Thanks for taking the time to share your thoughts. It is a gift.
Love, Tom B. -
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You are quite welcome.
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stunning
We are, but, remnants of forever.
Unpuzzling our connection
as the gears of the “Great Machine”
keeps manufacturing a more mundane
rational explanation for why
I can taste her meaning
when she whispers a breeze past my ears.
thank you for this write
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There is the intimacy in a moment and there is the way the desires of the world washing against us. We are in a constant conflict of visions and belief both our own and those that surround us. Thanks for the comment.
Love, Tom B. -
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Namaste my friend thank you for your write
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longing for love... longing for her...
admist the nothingness... -
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When someone touches us ... changes the world, the way we be ... everything -- different.
Love,
Tom B.
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There is so muched defined intimacy in this poem, 'her words on my finger tips.' And opposing this you interpose lines such as, 'Wonder what kisses I will find/in the caress of the breeze.' The intricate details you used pulled me into this scene right away.
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It always boils down to the details. What makes it real? This long distance love affair lives on dreams as much as facts. But it exisits in spite of everything.
Love, Tom B.
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good
There is magic abroad. I
can feel her weight pressing
like a memory trying to be remembered.
As if a bubble of history escaped death
burst into my present and set off alarms.
We are, but, remnants of forever.
Unpuzzling our connection
as the gears of the “Great Machine”
keeps manufacturing a more mundane
rational explanation for why
I can taste her meaning
when she whispers a breeze past my ears.
i like the ending -
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Thanks for stopping by again. There are moments when magic becomes our goal.
Peace & Light,
Tom B.
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More than just speaking of a moment of instinct,
it paints it too in pale golds and pinks, those colours I closely associate with intimacy whether of ones' own feeling or those associated with another. Gorgeous how it impresses upon the reader how outside influence can cloud such intimacy and the beauty of holding it close throughout the day. Blue
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Often the hardest thing is to just let something be. Even when we revel in it, to often we try to make it into something that fulfills our own need or meets the worlds sense of what is correct. This was let the moment of intimacy combine with a moment of vulnerablity and no matter how time or the universe wanted to make it more or explain it away -- all I wanted to do was to let it just be. Thanks for your insightful reading.
Love, Tom B.
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Beautifully Written
Alexandria, Your poem brought up much longing in my own memories of a distant once lover of mine. We parted ways just 5 months ago, a long distant relationship the man had major issues with commitment. I tried to hang on, it lasted almost 5 years. He confessed other female liaisons, it so hurt, I decided we needed to part ways but I do have many wonderful memories. Writing poetry to me is like existing for a time on another unseen demention, one I so long to revisit daily!!!
Your Poem shows, you too so enjoy, basking on this unseen demention also!!!!
It is a beautiful poem it flowed with each stanza you carry the reader on your journey, you made so easy to follow!!!
Excellent job
avatar1957
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Love is never just the person. It is the spirit and how it inspires you and illuminates your life. When we all a person to become the object or repository of our attention then too often we enter into addictive behaviors. This as well as the lack of intimacy can be part of what makes a long distant relationship difficult. In this poem the last part is perhaps the most important. For it talks about discovering what is the right relationship to have to honor both the person and the love shared. I have learned in this lifetime to not be locked into a particular form being more important than the spirit it is supposed to contain.
You honor me by finding so much in this piece. It is a gift to any artist to have their creation move and touch another. Thank you and bless you.
Love,
Tom B.
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You have a number of insightful comments. I am no genius when it comes to replying, but there is a place somewhere in each of our souls just before the dawns grey light when there is clarity. It seems to fade with our daily routines and for the most part is lost completely on an unthinking humanity. The heart of the poet somehow holds onto a little of it as most of the moment even slips away from us. I could come into your world for only a moment and see what you hear. Hear what you saw, and touch the things that you smelled. I wish I could be you for just a moment and not read your words, but sip the wine of your vision. RC
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I start with a quote from Nicamor Parra, an Argentinian poet who said in "Letters from a poet asleep in his chair," The poet's job is this: to improve upon the blank page. I doubt if it is possible."
I try to be still enough to let the world, or what ever greater being is speaking to me be heard over my own internal cacaphony. I am often fortunate enough to hear, or at least I think I hear, visions for me to describe.
I must thank you for the compliment you pay me in the last line of your comment. I don't know if what I see is any great thing. I have learned to treasure life and know that to live is extremely rare.
Love,
Tom B.
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This is very magical I love it very inspirational to me
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Thanks, those are wonderful words to hear. I am glad to be of support.
Love, Tom B.
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wooooooooooooooooooow.
this is unfrikingbelieveable.
I didnt get to the second stanza before listing this baby.
I mean hey, sometimes I Just Know this is going to be good, and your impressive talent managed to surpass even that.
Every word, thought deed, and character in this is golden, much more so than a trophy.
This is Magic, and true love, and spring time flowers, and first christmases.
Truly inspiring, and oh so Tom.
I wish you all the best in this contest, and send my love across the nation and to your family.
Always,
Jin
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What can I say that you don't already know?
I know we live in a world that tries to destroy the magic that springs up around us. In falling in love with science, we have forgotten how much of our lives is not cause and effect, so much as, it is sharing wonder and listening to how someone moves through our life.
Love,
Tom B.
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This is the Magic...
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Gift, Giving,To Give...Is to Recieve....
A real gift is to be understood and to give someone the gift to understand. Another real gift to me is when looked I looked into his eyes. It said he loved me...I know mine spoke the same.
Pardon my embellishment's, from todays calm. I too can see more cleary of what I lost in my own foolish mistakes.
Painting fair the future of things and the past, only a deeper understanding of myself and the older, intelligent man I love. Older than me that is.
" You are not an old fart", far from the truth!
The heart stores up it's love, I't has no cedar chest to store away these unique, memories.
When you truly love, you cannot get away. Each year passes more eloquently and honoring all the God sent blessings.
I thank you for your explanation's,
It helped my heart and mind see more clearly your perspective. Thank you for your time and honesty.
Meditate with faith's empty sounds, with "Thank You'', alive feeling, of love's silent ghost whispers, those are lifes true treasures.
In deeply felt human connection and involvement. We banish quietly, unwanted things of the soul.
We work diligently to find what mistaked our futures face, of true love and happiness, of soul mate connection. Only if we hope for tomorrows allowance of once again's. This is the Magic... -
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I grow conscious of my touch mostly by what I recieve. Like a dawning, my awareness makes its own discoveries and finds a way to share them with me. there is a psychological physiological phenomena called, I think, kinesthesia. It is when we do not separate our senses from one another and sound has taste or color, or sight becomes a sensation or a sound, perhaps when you hear a note of music you see it wrapped in a color or there is a rush of sensation across your skin. They say as you get older you make greater and greater separation between each of your senses. I have been trying to work in the opposite direction.
Love,
Tom B.
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"...the open capillaries of trees," what a strong visual that leaves.... sorry, couldn't resist the pun; Still, it really pulled me into the poem's poignancy. I love that you can feel magic breathing against your skin, that you taste mornings like an elixir, and that you can paint your heart in ordinary things and encapsulate their extraordinary feeling in words for me to read and feel, too. ~ Karen
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I am learning to treasure every simple moment as it glimmers before my eyes. I wake up to awareness and have to record their gifts before they slip from my consciousness and slid back into my mental morass.
I treasure any touch I can share and if the wind dances across your skin tonight, who knows it might be full of the breath I take.
Love, Tom B.
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Very well written, my best wishes.
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Thanks.
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The Mundane verses the Magic
If you read this aloud to me, I would have questions, with a beautiful smile...
What made you turn pink to white?
How is it you tasted the words on your fingertips? Why were her hands open, beckoning to silence your tongue?
How has the bubble of memory escaped death? What has given you the truth of unpuzzling the connection?
Who is it that whispers a breeze past your ears? Please be more specific and less general .
I need to understand this poem without the vagueness.
If you are speaking universally to all the poets you exchange comments with, then I do understand what you are communicating.
But, I somehow feel there is more you are trying to say, not in a metaphor or with similies. A sense of past, present, or just commonplace?
You are so great with words please do not take offense, I'm just not as intelligent as the others who understand and have commented on this poem.
I've tried to keep things simple but what I love about poetry is that it is deep. I like deep, what is the magic involved? In your poetic expression?
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Pink to white -- sunrise light to day light. 2. You catch someone's meaning as easily with your hands as with your ears. Meaning like chocolate leaves a flavor on the hands. 3. Open to receive or open to give. Could be either, could be both. Silence? Because she cannot speak or to hear her when I am being to loud. 4. Get to be an old fart like me and you will discover how many memories you know you once had are gone. 5. I am still figuring out the connection. 6. At a distance we can only speak to the wind and hope it is carried to the other.
It is perhaps to vauge. I have just written so many poems to her that I can use short hand. I shouldn't. You are intelligent and the questions were good. You made me relook at things. Lastly -- Magic ? -- being close to someone with a special bond between you, so it is not romantic love but something more, that is magic.
Love,
Tom B.
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Your words make me want to sigh! They dance around in my head while creating beautiful images.
To be inspired by another is magic!
Juls
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There is far more magic in this world than I understand. I do know how to participate in it. Keep and open heart and a quiet mind and allow yourself to participate in dreams.
Love, Tom B.
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what a beautiful piece of art...It's funny, I have been completely uninspired for almost a month now...can't write a thing. In fact, I haven't even been on the site for over a week, Then I log in tonight to find your invitation to read and find this beautiful piece bringing words and phrases together in my mind. Thank you so much for that.
Be Well,
Shelly
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I always thought, just, to touch someone was a fine compliment. But, to be inspiring, that is truly one of the nicest things I could hear. All I can do is give thanks.
Love,
Tom B.
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When we are inspired to write as beautifully
as this, then all the magic in the world cannot
compare to the wonder of the word....
You are truly blessed, and by knowing you,
so am I. Love, Lane
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I never ask why, 'cause on God knows and the last time I listened
He wasn't telling. But I never argue with when things fit, I just celebrate the fit.
Always be part of me. Glad to see ya sailing.
Love, Tom B.
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It Does doesn't it?
Being uninspired feels like being lost...usually something prompts me to write once or twice a day but on the rare days I don't create something with words I'm searching...this is one of your best
expressions Tom and that wasn't easy to say because your writing is always at it's zenith.
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You will spoil me with your compliments. I think it would be fun sometime to read together with jazz backup. Give us both a chance to parade our stuff and at the same time a moment to sit back and just let it soak in.
Love, Tom B.
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it is like being lost, because in so many ways the pen is my tongue when i need to say things i can't quite say out loud...
this poem was beautiful. i loved the descriptions, how detailed they were, turning mundane items into something special. you've captured the art in life in this piece, the simplistic joy that makes you get up every morning wondering what the day holds. this piece reached deep inside me, drawing my own memories to the surface and flooding my heart with questions and philosophical notions and belief and faith that it will all turn out right in the end. thank you for this brilliant entry. your exemplary attitude is a beacon in the night. -
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I want to say thank you for inviting me to enter. It proved to be quite and inspiration. The gold is quite a compliment. Again my thanks.
Love, Tom B. -
I always want my poems to touch the reader, to make them look at their world anew. Sensual in the sense that it should excite their feelings by drawing the world of their sensations into the mix. I had a friend who told me all my poems are spiritual and I had to laugh. He was right, but only because my faith is not a notation or a belief, it is so much of how I live.
Love, Tom B.
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This is beautiful and leaves me sighing and a tear falling
"I stand in the window light
watching my skin
go from pink to white.
Wonder what kisses I will find
in the caress of the breeze."
You touch hearts with words...Such a gift my talented and loving Bro
Ty for always touching mine
Lynda
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Thought you might enjoy my vision in this one. Conversations at a distance, we often sing t each others hearts without words.
Love, Tom B.
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Nicely written. I too find a lack of inspiration to be a lost sense. I enjoyed the visuals in this as well. You are getting better and better with those.
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I am still new to my feelings and yet I can remember all the things I see that make me feel the way I do. I take trips to my past to discover what I really felt when all I remember is numb. Sometimes I feel like Rip Van Winkle.
Love, Tom B.
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Your breezes always taste so much more vibrant when you write this way and it makes me smile, my ear is burning
C
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I play with silence, touch, memories that have no right to exist, my own foolishness.
Love, Tom B. -
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no comment
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I am too human to do more than attempt to hear the small still voice in the silence within. I spent until I was thirty eight pretty out of touch with my feelings except for occasional glimpses in some piece of art work of mine. Memories, ah memories. What I remember often seems to be more than this lifetime. Inspiration for me is often a surprise and fills me with visions and wonder. I do not know the source of my magic for words, so I simply give thanks and hope they are heard.
Love,
Tom B.
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