tart as a green pie
and easy as milk and new butter
your egg words make death into pancakes
and graves into pillows
you are the wax in icarus’ lost locks
and the third knuckle of the sea
that still stokes his puzzle spine
you are god bread
holy and doomed
broken again and again
to feed every mouth
and never your own
big as a squirrel tree
and quick as a cloud
the moon gazes at me with your blind eye
watch as i swallow you
my sleepy pepper, quartz tickler
and stitch your shavings into my corners:
for you are what is left
after my bones have finished
singing their song
Author notes
...for teresa...
i can still hear you sing.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 24 of 24
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freakin' good
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You are definitely the most talented and gifted poet here at AP.
You are Teresa are so deeply connected. What a beautiful touching and powerful testament to our lives and what we really don't know about death or life...how it all affects us from both sides. I have said this already but I am still in awe of it...that when I was typing up the tribute page for Julien/VG the back door was open and a sparrow flew into the kitchen where I was sitting and flew all around the living room and kitchen. I was blown away! I got the chills immediately! Never in my life has any bird flown into the house, much less of the sparrow family! I opened the back door more so it could fly back out again. I so strongly felt Julien's presence! I only share all of that to say, life somehow continues in ways that are mysterious and beyond us. It still gives me the chills.
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mwah
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back!
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In a word: excellent.
Garrison
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Thank you very much. I am deeply appreciative of your kindness.
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WOW That was deep and very fascinating. I think I was really impressed with the comparisons you made. That really inspired deep thoughts. I suppose since your profile said that the woman this is about has passed away that you are referring to the things you miss about her. I find that tragic and touching at the same time. A wonderful job, I really loved reading it.
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Quite a write ...
and a wonderful tribute to one no longer with us. I am sure she'd love this.
You have a way with words, for sure.
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The title of concertina for me denotes the effort, the hands, the push and pull needed to make a melody; it is also an anagram of " in a concert" and this symposium is a deep, deep orchestration. This references to foodstuffs as metaphors suggest to me that this person fed the staff of life, the god bread, manna from heaven and that teresa continues to nurture and nourish even though being not now fed herself. I adore " watch as I swallow you my sleepy pepper" perhaps this says the poetess will drink down and drink to , eat both what is easy to digest with what is not, with a passion that is pure. " After my bones have finished singing their song" Oh my, this adulation is marrow bone deep.
Outstanding.
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some very interesting metaphors here. very interesting. excellent write.
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Thank you. Glad you enjoyed.
PS. Loved the contest prompt.
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What a grand tribute this is, Sweetie. I agree with Rob; I think she reads over your shoulder, too...& if ever you hesitate on a word, she thumps ya in the head & heart until the right one comes along. 
They are like that, you know. Beautifully done, my Friend. Good luck in the contest. 
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AMAZING
I remember -
colder than winter, no
rumor of spring
but somehow
the earthbound warbler
sings
later than midnight, too
early for mourning's
frost, the missing lark
is never really
lost
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Rob...you are so kind. Thank you for this wonderful comment and the poem too. I was wondering if you'd also be so generous as to allow me to add that little bit of posey to my author's page. I think Teresa would love it...but not more than I do.
&
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I would be honored. Somehow, I think she reads over your shoulder...
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for you are what is left
after my bones have finished
singing their song
awesomeness in a can dude. i do not doubt she also hears you sing down here somehow.
you know i love this
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i so love this... and you know i loved her work, the big ugly was always my favourite and others too
your heart and words make me think of her too
how much loss there is, yet strong love too
amazing stuff here
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stunning. "my sleepy pepper, quartz tickler
and stitch your shavings into my corners:"
how do you come up with lines like these? wow.
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Wow. I'm sure that I don't fully understand all the special meanings in this but there's just something about it that really gets to me. Your first stanza was definitely my favorite and by the time I got through with this I got the strange mixed feelings of sadness and happiness coming from it but I could never actually point out why I think that. Sorry none of this really makes any sense. So I'll just shut up and tell you I loved it.
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this is poetry ...
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you dance with your words as does a fencer with a rapier. sharp concise and "to the point" ... awesome
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beautiful
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normally i would think this much imagery in such a short space excessive, but each description is beautiful, unique and sincere (+ delicious). it's really an incredible and unsettling sense of haunt and comfort present in the first stanza. as well as a weirdness with beauty and despair in the second. maybe those aren't the right words. but the combination of the language and action conveys mixed and complicated feelings for me, all covered with a distinct undertone of sadness. i've also been meaning to ask you if there are any teresa poems (as in poems by teresa) on this site because i read and was amazed by the couple you have on your author's page. the ones you have written about her are consistently and relentlessly awe-inspiring
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Thank for your incredible words, m'pet. I'm always so delighted when you deign to strew your amazing words over my poor pieces. Alas, I hadn't introduced her to this site before her untimely death, and I only received a disc of her poetry from her husband after the funeral. The ones I posted on my author's page are my favorite ones and encompass nearly her whole collection. But she has always written poetry, adoring Plath and was the first person to introduce me to this medium. Before her, I never wrote poetry...sucked at actually when I did try, lol, but she always inspired me and I was so envious of her talent(s). So in a way, everything I write can be connected to her. I think that as long as I can write about her, she is still there somehow...someway. And that is why only her poetry or poems about her will grace my author's page. She will inspire me until the day I die.
But I will try to dig out that disc and see if I can't post anymore of her stuff here.
You are a bushel of her favorite peaches.
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