Thursday, January 17, 2008

These are two very old poems that I am in the midst of changing. i am using them a test to see if the link to other blog is possible.

In the Midst of Getting There

No life in my living room yet I see it clearly:
the Victorian sofa and requisite love seat
against the walls of corresponding corners
a large oriental rug flanks the area near the fireplace
a single English leather arm chair, the pipes are neatly arranged
on the table adjacent, the reading lamp is Tiffany, of course
a large bay window accents this room,
it beacons to be looked at and out,
to see what can be seen on most days
and at night, the cat lays there dreaming.
books are scattered in various piles of concern.
All sound is muted for now
because there is no sound in this dream
this is my 'building' - my way of being there
before the physical reality becomes done.

One Last Time

I want to shout my joy at being here, among them,
but something traps it in the vocal tubes
and after a brief struggle, it dies despite never having been born.
My audience does not care.
I know this winter, it is my winter yet it is not
and my efforts to etch, mark, or stain fail to be felt
by them, those others who are all around me.
My impression melts and dries and is gone
before they see even my shadow.
Tomorrow another sun cast its firelight
and memories will fade into unreal textures.
What I once was becomes perception personalized
by single moments kept.
I know what I am, I feel what I feel,
forever in the Now. To them, I am gone and soon forgotten.

1 comment:

mutti said...

I would love to sit in this imaginary room. It sounds cozy, warm, a comforting vision of what might be some day. A little old-fashioned, maybe, but beckoning.