Poetry is an echo, asking for a shadow to dance
- Carl Sandburg
* * * *
Every finger, touching a pen,
dances in the flow of ink --
often, a child,
at the beginning of storm,
head back, tongue out --
tries to catch the taste of snow.
* * * *
As language created distinction, human refined sensations to be,
clearer about the fleeting shadows
racing across the self. We, still,
demand black and white when fearful.
Color is full of meaning and personality,
the chance to be misunderstood.
Oh, the centuries we have fallen through,
twisting our private Rubik’s cube, unable
to make ordered sense from emotional fire.
Intellect is a tool paired with logic
to create sensible well trained words.
Where is the place for the wind
racing round heart to gather soul.
It takes refuge in the art of poetry,
blusters against shades, bangs on doors,
dances away with the mop when unready
hands stumble across a misspelling.
* * * *
Who will kiss us to melt the frost to dew?
The cycle of sun and moon too short to hold
all that life would give.
11:48 PM
05/16/08
Alexandria, VA
In a list
Please tell me what you think, what it makes you feel, how you are moved.
Comments
1 - 16 of 16
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how wondeful you write; you have touched a part of me when you said," who will kiss us to melt the frost.?"
It gave me a insight on life, and I recalled the line:
"Every finger, touching a pen,
dances in the flow of ink --
often, a child,"
I felt you were talking directly to me, for I often made mistakes...mispellings and etc...and I had a English teacher that gave us all hell. ( and we loved her)
I enjoy this poem, and I could relate to each line my poetic master of words.....just pure excellence...novy
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When we dance with the magic of words our life begins a dance with the mystery and wonder that bring life to everything. Thanks for the sweet and kind review.
Love,
Tom B.
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Lovely words, and beautiful imagery. Great write.
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Thanks, always trying to capture with simple words the underlying truths.
Peace,
Tom B.
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Sandburg always fascinates, I see he does you too. This dances from his quote into something that is purely you C
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I guess. When we create and work at our art in the end that is all it can be and we hope it is good.
Love,
Tom B
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Your use of dynamic image-makers really gave power to your ideas. Thank you so much for entering this poem.
Just an aside...watch that you use formal language, perhaps with the following: "when scared" by using frightened, afraid... etc. It caused a jar in the poem for me. -
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Words have their own history within each of us. I had signed up for a rock climbing course and the leader asked is any of us were scared. No one raised their hand. He said," I guess we aren't climbing today. " everyone looked surprised. He continued,"It is good to be scared, it means what you are doing counts. You could die from it.
"Being afraid or fearful means you are too busy thinking about what could happen based on some past idea or event. I need you to be present, so no one gets hurt.
"Understand, this is dangerous and you can get injured. So being scared is your bodies way of telling you to pay attention and be careful. If it is not telling you that then I don't need you on the mountain with me."
OF course, I paraphrase. But, I have never forgotten that lesson. I will go back and change scared to afraid. It isn't as strong and it makes the person feeling it seem weak. Now I am wandering. Thanks for the contest and the opportunity. Have a grand day.
Love, Tom B.
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Distinct persuasion holds sway all the way through...Not really questioning, not really giving answers; but dancing between the two. I really
responded to "Oh, the centuries we have fallen through, ...to make ordered sense from emotional fire." The line in the middle about Rubiks felt
like a smudge I quickly swiped over. This part too
is very affecting "Where is the place for the wind
racing round heart to gather soul" while the couplet that follows seems quite dim as I am swept-up again by "It takes refuge in the art of poetry,
blusters against shades, bangs on doors" where you give our creative needs sound, demand...thunder.
Thanks for sharing such a provocative piece.
Blue
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We are this moment of centuries awakening Rubik is part of us.
We have renovated but never redesigned, walked the path with complaint but few have taken a different path. Artist shift the world. No matter how hard we try to contain and control, the artist keeps jumping the fence and tempting us to go beyond what we hold as possible. Even in the end, when we are seeking that personal solace life is still moving on and we have no time to spare.
I agree about one pair of lines I think. Got to think about it. i write in passion but edit thoughtfully. Thanks for your vision and your ability to share it.
Love,
Tom B.
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Wow!
This was a work only you could do, i like Jin feel a connection. I felt alittle lighter reading , a couple of places even made me giggle slightly thinking hmm thats like me.
twisting our private Rubik’s cube, unable
to make ordered sense from emotional fire.
(Then this is so true of poets)
Where is the place for the wind
racing round heart to gather soul
as it dances with a flourish of kisses
taken from the mouths of thirsting flora.
It takes refuge in the art of poetry,
blusters against shades, bangs on doors,
You my teacher have brought forth some great wisdom here in a light hearted manner.
Except this part which made me alittle sad but also thought who cares :
Who will kiss us to melt the frost to dew?
Great writing!
~Lisa~
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I care. we are magicians wearing the smock of artists. It is good that my touches of whimsy brought a sense of lightness to your day. This was my attempt to show how the art dances through our lives and is part of all that we are.
Love,
Tom B.
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I love this!
I am glad I entered before I read this one
Such a beautiful take on the quote...
I am always touched by your words ..This is another masterpiece
Lynda
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Now you are spoiling me. I can tell. This was one of those flood gates open poems and then forever coming up with a title. Glad you enjoyed.
Love,
Tom B.
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Where is the place for the wind
racing round heart to gather soul
as it dance with a flourish of kisses
taken from the mouths of thirsting flora.
(Add an S to dance, maybe?)
Why do I feel personally connected to this write?
(I know not everything is about me)
This line:
Who will kiss us to melt the frost to dew?
Love that, gives me a warm and tingly feeling inside.
The cycle of sun and moon to short to hold
all that life would give.
(add an O to 'to' for too)
This is stunning, full of the Tom thing you do so well.
Lovely thoughts to take away with me, and into the day.
Life has never been so good.
Love,
jin
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As long as Sandburg is not embarrassed to be used as an epigraph and my readers can see the connection I have passed level one poetry.
Connections are not egocentric, they are the discovery of how much we are all a part of one another. Love is the best choice to share across them. It allows us to be alone without the subset of lonely. 
I am getting better at writing like I talk and talking like a write. Least I think it is a good thing. I am really about bringing things together and having it work so we can share from the similarities and celebrate the differences. Be rich, enjoy a little risk as well as the risque 
May this day dance for you and you find yourself laughing with the joy and freedom being alive brings.
Love, Tom B.
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