Ten is a bird you must not miss
I see them
On the grass
The cherry popping in my shoe ridges
Like blood exploding
This time will never end
But I say to the little girl
Do not lose tomorrow
She popped her balloons and ripped down the banner
This is no place to be 21
She left her name dangling from the ceiling
The colours are not as fine as the white rose
The candy floss time and plane bruises
They flap like old skin
Unscrubbed
Forgotten
Misplaced
I wonder who she thinks she is too
I
I
I am lost
A bird missed
A vote misled
Trapped in the mud of other people’s noise
Not quite wading
Not quite drowning
Not quite.
Ten is a bird you must not miss.
My story was long forgotten at seven.
14 comments:
This looks like a history in hieroglyphics, a sad history of innocence lost. I wonder what other readers will make of this one. For me the hurt is palpable and I feel desperate to help. Each post of yours stretches your skill in reaching our hearts even though we are left with question marks.
These poems are like reading a novel. I can see the layers unfolding and the mystery beginning to reveal itself one tiny word at a time.
Even though I only know you through your poerty, I think of you often and am sending healing waves your way!
With cryptic, lyric lines, this piece reveals deeply held secrets, stories that should not have been. It also opens up the possibility of recognition and renewal, the potential for wellness, wholeness, happiness. I see that.
I like the sense of connection here, the sense that someone else is hurting too and needs compassion. Sometimes the only way to ease one's own pain is to help someone else through theirs.
Thank you OldEgg..signs not words..or signs that mean words..I like that idea..
Thank you Linda - some people don't even know that much about me..I always appreciate your support and kindness.. :)
Thanks for seeing that Kim..let's hope this pacing leads somewhere..
Yes, I think you are right Ann..lots of people's stories are forgotten..drifting away like plastic catastrophe bags..thank you
Jae
I like the line: trapped in the mud of other people's noise. I can relate to that line. Thanks for sharing, my friend.
I like the word play here, whether intended or not. I think of the Stevie Smith poem, "Not Waving, But Drowning." I also like the likening of a vote to a bird. It, indeed, is.
Yours words will live forever, Jae. Your story will NOT be missed.
flap like old skin..I always feel like you are dancing around something and that if we read the images carefully we will get closer to it.
"other people's noise",,,that is not important ,,,what is---is your music.
Thank you Belva..
That's exactly what I was thinking too Wendy..thanks..
Thank you Mary..muchly..
Thanks Dee..I think you know a lot already ;)
Thanks Glenn..I'm more of a Quaker type of silent contemplation..that's music to me..
Jae
10 hummingbird, long beak and round belly visits a rose
21 egret long neck and tall legs stepping over mud
7 perhaps is a bird in flight =)
Always reading between the lines because there's so much said there and in the painful margins. Always half truths skirted around in delicate little girl fragments of life.
I feel you in every line, I know the little girl too.
Fabulous (if a painful writ ) prose again Jae.
Thank you Lucy - I like that thought..
I know you do too..thank you Daydreamer..
Jae
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