sad poem sorry

windedsailor

this is about a soldier facing death over there, and his lover back here at home. he didn't make it.

you have yourself, believe yourself
offer candles to the oceans
rest your head on sands of time
let stonewalled waves of no one listening
offer comfort to your thighs
lets pretend:
i can see into your eyes tonight
lets take a walk on this desert floor
next to the ocean
where we walked before
here we are, ourselves
there is no season, it is a season
there is no thought to give at all
i'll be home when i get there,
no need to answer calls;
i offer songs as a candles
origins in fire and wax
your incandescent glow
...like a stonewalled wave,
never reaching shore
the sea kisses your toes,
and that's enough...
you're here,
holding the light,
just like you said you would.

windedsailor

i wrote this in about 15 minutes. maybe 20. i just read it again, and...it aint too bad. i recall as i was writing it, that the corduroy melody made a presence once or twice in my head. i've had a few beers. i fought making the words too singy-songy. i think i flailed toward the end, and maybe i'll correct that now.

fucking sad still, though, i think. maybe i'll leave it.

anOmis

Originally posted by windedsailor
this is about a soldier facing death over there, and his lover back here at home. he didn't make it.

you have yourself, believe yourself
offer candles to the oceans
rest your head on sands of time
let stonewalled waves of no one listening
offer comfort to your thighs
lets pretend:
i can see into your eyes tonight
lets take a walk on this desert floor
next to the ocean
where we walked before
here we are, ourselves
there is no season, it is a season
there is no thought to give at all
i'll be home when i get there,
no need to answer calls...
i offer songs as a candles
origins of fire...
a tidal wave,
i dug my grave
never reaching shore
you're there holding me
just like you said you would

i found it really beautiful...

and i could relate...

windedsailor

Originally posted by anOmis
i found it really beautiful...

and i could relate...

thank you.
i just did a little re-work.
i think it's better now.

windedsailor

it would more appropriately be described, now that i've convinced myself to let it be, as a woman paying tribute to her lost lover, just as they had planned should events turn that way.

violet ray

Originally posted by windedsailor
it would more appropriately be described, now that i've convinced myself to let it be, as a woman paying tribute to her lost lover, just as they had planned should events turn that way.

i can't believe i actually interpreted this one correctly (i'm bad at interps)...i really liked it.

ISN

I like it because I was watching four tealight candle-flames burning after I finished watching Rosencrantz and Guildentstern are dead.....and it has lots of candles in it....all the four flames were the same size.....and I couldn't help thinking how do you measure flames.....? plus I was thinking the other day....about my baby being born on a street that leads to the beach, and maybe going back there one day and fantasizing about his mother walking down to the shore with teh dog....and his salty origins.....I might read the poem again a few times....to see if it brings up any other feelings......

(I just noticed tidal waves.....which are my recurrent nightmare....amongst others....and well, I haven't had any tidal wave dreams for ages.....must be back in Kansas)

FinsburyParkCarrots

She doesn't want to be the black-clad, wan
stereotype, wilting at the door,
Mariana-like, wishing her man

Would head back smiling, uniformed, from war.
She won't pull down her shades: she wants the light
To enter through her window, though he's dead.

Because he's gone, she chose to wear her bright
sun-yellow blouse today, the one he often said
he liked the best on her. She steps outside

upon the porch. She knows deep in her heart
it isn't foolishness to think the wide
Beam of golden heat his soul in part,

Holding her once more. Crude sentiment
Is not for her, but here, out from the shade,
the summer sun suggests a firmament

Of Afterness, and promises remade.

ISN

she promised herself that this love only could her hold
she waited for him and her waiting heart foretold
that his true place was set beside her chair
she waits so long, she waited in despair

when first she saw him, godly he arrived
and childlike, impish, all adjectives contrived
to paint him perfect, ready-formed for her
she found him in the depths of her despair

she had to let him go, he had to leave
and she could yet live on, her mind deceived
already dead, he came, and left, bereaved
she's waiting mourning, waiting....grieve

not for love, or for the ones who never
consume-mate....eternity is there....the two
are joined....they wait and waiting sever
every moment that they shared and rue
their love that gave them each the other

A HitchHiker Poet

one word....BEAUTIFUL!!!

windedsailor

Originally posted by A HitchHiker Poet
one word....BEAUTIFUL!!!

why, thank you.

gave me a shiver to read again, tonight.

windedsailor

just read it again....

windedsailor

Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots
She doesn't want to be the black-clad, wan
stereotype, wilting at the door,
Mariana-like, wishing her man

Would head back smiling, uniformed, from war.
She won't pull down her shades: she wants the light
To enter through her window, though he's dead.

Because he's gone, she chose to wear her bright
sun-yellow blouse today, the one he often said
he liked the best on her. She steps outside

upon the porch. She knows deep in her heart
it isn't foolishness to think the wide
Beam of golden heat his soul in part,

Holding her once more. Crude sentiment
Is not for her, but here, out from the shade,
the summer sun suggests a firmament

Of Afterness, and promises remade.

i know what you mean. nice, finsbury. nice work.