Irony, you are invited across the threshold and into my mind. Not so very much going on in here lately, but because I love you, my disjointed thoughts are yours:
Such arrogance. If fences could speak,
They'd sound like every bully ever known,
Physical presences empty of truth.
Tend your garden. Build your house.
"Good fences make good neighbors."
What do excellent fences make?
Cage that bird. Keep out. Keep in.
White picket, barbed wire
And the neighbor's boxwood hedges.
You are an illusion and a temporary lie.
Beneath the soil, there are no fences
To hinder the trees
As they stretch their roots lazily
To hinder the burrowing animals
As they tunnel quietly,
Blissfully unaware that the earth is owned.
You made me cry:) Ask Occam, he gets to hear me sniffling right now. I love your words and I now have a beautiful image of cool roots stretching their way under the soil. For some reason this has really taken my mind off my painy legs, I now have tree roots instead. Thank you for sharing your words and your heart with me. It means more than you know.
My envy needs to be checked. How well you tease.
Even though this is for Irony, I too appreciate this. Every poem of yours that I've read has resonated with some part of me. Beautiful. Thank you.
I have edited this post after receiving some questions.
Yes, I'm sorry that I was unclear. The Exhalations section will remain here for now, but I just won't be updating it with poetry any longer. It really has been a pleasure writing for you all these past two years.
Thank you to everyone who was such an encouragement to me. You'll never know how grateful I am :)
For all who posted here, thank you. I accidentally deleted your comments. I'm thinking over your words. I am. For Irony, alone, I would write. Making her smile would be enough for anyone.
Älskar dig mitt hjärta:)
Now I am looking longingly at all the new private posts and wondering what treasures are inside. You realise I am probably going to ask you for a long poetry reading next time I get you to myself on the phone? :P
Beautiful... as always.
There is nothing else that smells like a Catholic church, is there? And they all seem to smell the same...
I like this.
Lovely, even landlocked as I am, I could hear the sounds of boats at the dock.
Along the banks of rivers
In the early morning hours
When sun and moon
Are sleepy neighbors yet,
I have watched the fishermen
Casting into the sky, their nets
Resembling dragonfly wings
Where they weave silhouettes
Against the light,
A suspended, magical sigh.
Water beads imbued with flight
Scatter like jewels
Sacrificed to heaven.
And I wonder in that moment
If some of the sky is netted
And sent down into the deep,
Where the moonlit morn
May swim in a freshwater world
Alive, and newly reborn
In the shades of daysong.
The nets give and the nets take.
Straining winches creak along
Attuned to God and grace
While the muscled arms of men
Struggle beneath the bounty
Of River's morning embrace.
The real jewels are how you paint pictures so visible to the mind's eye...
I am in love with your journal. Your writing is stunning. It truly is.
Boy this sure brought me back to castnetting in a whole new way, thank you Jo.