All around, in a pool of bones, whispers of tired skin.
I fold. I bend. I slip under everything.
Could my blood reach the stream?
All around, in a pool of bones, whispers of tired skin.
I fold. I bend. I slip under everything.
Could my blood reach the stream?
Beautiful poem. Would love to see the picture negative!
Cheers
Glenn
Excellent !
Simple, court, punché, efficace.
Yesterday you adressed to me a question. Let me give a translation of that, not necessary an answer. Est-ce que la vivacité de l’expression (dans l’écriture) ne l’emporte pas sur la volonté de dialoguer? Actually, I dont’have a lot to add. We simply walk and walk and talk. But, you know, today I read an abstract of Jane Hirshfield (After) and I wanted share with you this cita-
tion:”Words are not the end of thought, they are where it begins”. Par extension, on pourrait suggérer que l’expression, flamboyante ou non, trouvant ses destinataires ou pas, reste le premier pas qui conduit à l’autre… Maybe just a little snap to the stream…
You have such an efficiency with words. Many say so much less with much more words. You rock.
Chris
My Blog
glenn: thank you 🙂 I considered using a negative of the image. but I liked it this way better. shows both sides.
perrasite: merci 🙂
Jack: thank you for your comment. I appreciate that line of thinking. however, I like the use of the words to take the thoughts further as well. there’s no start and finish. a stream, exactly.
Chris: I found it hard to let this go, post it as is. I felt like it wasn’t enough. but couldn’t find anything else to add. thank you for your input (and ego boosting compliments :p ).