I was reading a missive from someone,
when I dragged my foot through a sandy trace.
In that broken moment, you appeared.
I can always count the days, when I thought of you
last. Forgetting is not a conscious act.
Some people are so woven into the fabric
you feel them, catch scent of them, have a vision
when you pause in the clutch of a thought,
the wave of a suddenly gorgeous phrase,
any time the sun brings a shimmer to the eye.
Like rain, even after a long drought, it manifests
its power and pummels you with fat delicious drops.
I want to stand, totally available to being drenched
tasting each drop of you as it falls on my tongue.
I never knew when I unfolded the present of my life,
the dust in the creases, the touch of a quick sharp edge --
all these premonitions provoked by shadows
were but heralds of the way you would leave
foot prints in this soil of a man.
I should never dwell, as I have, upon you
not in this lifetime. I have read the story. It really doesn’t
matter how much I love you. The course is set.
I put the book back on the shelf.
It is only a matter of time till
a moment twists and you spill out.
I will continue to try to forget, until the next time.
7:23 AM • 06-27-09 • Alexandria, VA
Author notes
Prompt: unless ...
In a list
Please tell me what you think, what it makes you feel, how you are moved.
Comments
1 - 21 of 21
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I really like this. You have a well-crafted piece here, full to the brim with wonderful vocab and imagery. Yeah, my favourite line is:
'foot prints in this soil of a man.'
Mmm I like it. It brings to mind how people close to you really leave their mark, so to speak.
Good luck! =]
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Blessed
to receive the grace of your joy in slip of my simple words. Yes, we make connections that still fill our sails with the winds of their love.
Peace,
Tom B.
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Excellent
A very fine write, indeed. You have expressed yourself quite well. Thanks for sharing this one with us. Again, well done. -
"I never knew when I unfolded the present of my life,
the dust in the creases, the touch of a quick sharp edge --
all these premonitions provoked by shadows
were but heralds of the way you would leave
foot prints in this soil of a man.
I should never dwell, as I have, upon you
not in this lifetime. I have read the story. It really doesn’t
matter how much I love you. The course is set.
I put the book back on the shelf."
I absolutely have gone daft over your imagery! It is crisp and very striking. The only part that I don't like is the ending; it seems short and lacks the depth that the rest of the poem holds. Maybe you meant this intentionally? I don't think I could pick out a favorite part from this poem; it's moving, all of it. I feel a feeling of nostalgia, but it is felt with a sweetness that doesn't feel like regret - more like contemplation, turning over pages just to study the impact they've had on your life. Great write, thank you for sharing. -
Some people are so woven into the fabric
you feel them, catch scent of them, have a vision
when you pause in the clutch of a thought,
the wave of a suddenly gorgeous phrase,
any time the sun brings a shimmer to the eye.
great poem, i love this part especially. i know these feelings all to well myself. amazing lines
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Excellent poem here. So glad I clicked on this one.
I can always count the days, when I thought of you
last. Forgetting is not a conscious act.
Favourite lines for me. I think it says everything about a love lost and never really forgotten, no matter how many new loves come our way.
Good luck in the contest.
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Thank you. Love never really dies as much as we learn not to listen for it.
Peace,
Tom B.
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Woosh!
Like rain, even after a long drought, it manifests
its power and pummels you with fat delicious drops.
I want to stand, totally available to being drenched
tasting each drop of you as it falls on my tongue.
exquisite lines in an overall excellent piece of poetry.
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Thanks. I had a hard time with deciding how obvious to be with that simile. Rain is used so often and part I think was a matter of timing. Glad you enjoyed.
Peace,
Tom B.
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Touching
This touched my heart, i am not going to comment because i can uderstand this so well..instead i am stealing you words...because you have explained way better than i ever could!
Tomis's words:
We know we have loved, our mind thinks it is about results and can never quite accept it is enough to have done it. Our heart is an open door and sometimes it is just about the breeze that blows into the doorway.
Tomis's words
We are as fragile as we are strong. When we acknowledge how tender we are it opens us to recognize how often we are touched and moved. We make better choices one hopes. We do not feel less pain. Perhaps we only are able to respect and honor those who pass through our lives and act a bit less childishly. At least, I hope so.
Never said better my dearest friend,
Love,
~Lisa P~
ps.
I am sorry i stole your words but they were more perfection than what i could have said about this ...I do appreciate this one.
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I have never been so complimented
I know enough to know you understand. The rest is a gift for I hear you saying I said all that needed to said and in a way that left you without words. That you found blessings in my comments is only an additional blessing given to me.
Love,
Tom B.
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This is the most beautiful account of love that slip's away...and your throughts of wonderments ..Unless! what if? why? I can relate to this poem.... the scent on a pillow, or his scarf give me memories.,...some good some disturbing...yet I have grown in grace.....and excellent piece you have created......Thanks for sharing it my friend.......novy
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We know we have loved, our mind thinks it is about results and can never quite accept it is enough to have done it. Our heart is an open door and sometimes it is just about the breeze that blows into the doorway.
Love,
Tom B.
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applause-applause!
what a lovely poem
I bet we all read it twice
to enjoy it's beauty and grace!
well done poet!
I adored this poem.
ears/Seattle
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Love is always finding a way to open another door, window,heart wider than before.
Love,
Tom B.
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Some people are so woven into the fabric
you feel them, catch scent of them, have a vision
when you pause in the clutch of a thought,
the wave of a suddenly gorgeous phrase,
any time the sun brings a shimmer to the eye.
I came to the realization that I had developed a bit of a crush on someone here-but that it had happened so long ago-that I wasn't really surprised when I figured it out.
We were still very good friends, always had been.
Then he went away for awhile and I missed him and hoped he was doing well, wherever he was.
I received an email from him about a week ago, telling me that he'd also developed an affection, against his better judgment Im sure-
and thought that the best way was to work it out on his own.
Never even let on and neither did I and so our ships passed all those nights ago.
Now I wonder what I must have been thinking, and if there is a way to break that feeling-to exorcise his fiber from my existence and move on despite him.
this poem really brought that out. Friends are always better in the long run, and if that's all I can stand of him, then so be it.
ohyeah, and I really loved your words. Always do.
Love,
jin
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We are as fragile as we are strong. When we acknowledge how tender we are it opens us to recognize how often we are touched and moved. We make better choices one hopes. We do not feel less pain. Perhaps we only are able to respect and honor those who pass through our lives and act a bit less childishly. At least, I hope so.
Your friend,
Tom B. -
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that's just it. I think we need to remember what being a child was like, and to forget the bad habit of being all grown up. Too often we lose that tender child-like quality. Who said we had to?
Just my opinion for what it's worth.
love,
jin -
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The art of caring for the inner child is part of the process of maturity. A large part of being able to know how to trust we learn from how we care for ourselves. Don't give away your personal power; take care of your feelings; guard your dreams and do not allow that wonderful inner child so full of Light to be sullied except in the joy of playing in the mud.
Love,
Tom B.
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Awe! The heart is a boundless place to unfold the infinite beauty of a rose, and this poem unfolds it's tender velvet in stories of life's rarest moments a petal at a time. Perhaps forgetting is like the everpresent wave upon the sand, only the pattern changes, but the whisper remains constant, and a salty drop disappears once again into the brine, never-the-less powerful.
... I have tears reading this one, Tom, and I am going to print it out, because I love it when you shake the dust off your feet, and your eyes light an emerald fire on these pages.
Exquisite.
Karen
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We make choices, lose patience, are happy with where we are, see where we could of been, on and on it goes -- spin, spin, spin. Still, there are these moments, when standing on the shore you see the sail of the ship on the horizon, the one you could of been ...
No regrets. Just, acknowledgment.
Love,
Tom B.
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