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  • 04-10-2013 3:20am
    #1
    Flattery
    Registered Users Posts: 57 ✭✭


    Maybe at that point when you return
    From the far-flung and the intensely different
    And intense
    Dreaming backwards, of towels on wet floors
    In New York City bathrooms
    Cramped and dark
    Yet somehow demanding a jocund nostalgia

    Or thoughts from away on home
    Meditations on missing people, on missing you
    On appropriate presents, or smiling again
    Buying raspberry beer named for Hendrix
    And drinking it for you, to think of you
    The strangest of symbols tying you back
    To who and what is missed

    In that side dimension that imagines emotions fastened,
    So bonded as to be unbreakable
    These things which we love to create and shape
    To help understand love
    To paint over the uglier parts of reality and humanity
    And insist then that love and beauty
    Can really be all that they can be;
    Of primary importance
    And all that matters.
    With my hands open, and my eyes
    Shut fast.


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    #2
    Flattery
    Registered Users Posts: 57 ✭✭Flattery


    Has anyone any thoughts or feedback on this? It is a very old poem that I re-worked slightly to present here. It is - generously - impressionistic; trying to evoke a wistfulness from a specific memory of mine. It does for me, but I have my doubts about how well that scans for someone else ...


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