(no subject)
i really really love this poem.
i think it has a magic feel. i think there is magic inside of it and i want EVERYONE to read it.
i transcribed it, re-wrote it, so it is easier to transport and share.
this poem, it is magical.
i havent written poetry in a very very loong long time.
like maybe a few months.
----
11/12/05
"Mae and Me" (she titled it)
(she starts)
"the petals felt powdered and it reminded me of"
(i continue)
"winter at my grandma's house, and raindrops on the
roses"
(Janet)
"with impressive stems
but her soup was questionable"
(mine)
"the silent stars, so lonely far above me, and the
grass is wet beneath me"
(janet)
and all i can think about are plums
fat and full and thirsty plums
that i consider to be a perfect meal while on wet
grass.
(me)
we are trusting people, we are loving people, we are
living for these simple things
(janet)
but notice that as we sleep, we're kept and growing
among our feasts
(me)
...her soup was questionable, and her dog was mean,
and suddenly i feel so tired. i feel more tired after
every waking. and her dog was mean but thats okay.
yeah, thats okay.
(janet)
it's okay and plenty
comforted by all the noise and becoming used to it, is
that a good thing.
(me)
it must be a good thing, being used to the people, but
i look in the mirror and see myself wincing in pain. i
look at the window and see myself sitting quietly on
the arm of the chair. but i'm becoming used to all the
noise of the people and comfort comes near
(janet)
comes and goes, comes and goes
like blasts of winds in all directions
sometimes pushing or pulling,
but quiet just the same
(me)
comfort is a beautiful thing. and it's a lonely thing
after it's gone.
(janet)
comfort is private and internal
its never gone, just sometimes low
and covered by my infections.
(me)
i take comfort in needing you. i take comfort in
needing. i take comfort in needing. i find no comfort
in needing.
in the desert. in the desert. i cant see in the
desert.
in the woodland, in the sea. in the desert.
in the desert deep inside of me.
(janet)
blind as bats but just as keen
feared in myth and loved by fiction
we dwell and dwell and hang upside down
we're bats that stalk by day.
(i say, "janet, i cant write anymore."
she say's, "thats okay.")
(she writes)
we stop.
(then i write)
we're blind as bats we love by night we're blind as
bats we love by night we're blind as bats we love by
night.
the end.
i think it has a magic feel. i think there is magic inside of it and i want EVERYONE to read it.
i transcribed it, re-wrote it, so it is easier to transport and share.
this poem, it is magical.
i havent written poetry in a very very loong long time.
like maybe a few months.
----
11/12/05
"Mae and Me" (she titled it)
(she starts)
"the petals felt powdered and it reminded me of"
(i continue)
"winter at my grandma's house, and raindrops on the
roses"
(Janet)
"with impressive stems
but her soup was questionable"
(mine)
"the silent stars, so lonely far above me, and the
grass is wet beneath me"
(janet)
and all i can think about are plums
fat and full and thirsty plums
that i consider to be a perfect meal while on wet
grass.
(me)
we are trusting people, we are loving people, we are
living for these simple things
(janet)
but notice that as we sleep, we're kept and growing
among our feasts
(me)
...her soup was questionable, and her dog was mean,
and suddenly i feel so tired. i feel more tired after
every waking. and her dog was mean but thats okay.
yeah, thats okay.
(janet)
it's okay and plenty
comforted by all the noise and becoming used to it, is
that a good thing.
(me)
it must be a good thing, being used to the people, but
i look in the mirror and see myself wincing in pain. i
look at the window and see myself sitting quietly on
the arm of the chair. but i'm becoming used to all the
noise of the people and comfort comes near
(janet)
comes and goes, comes and goes
like blasts of winds in all directions
sometimes pushing or pulling,
but quiet just the same
(me)
comfort is a beautiful thing. and it's a lonely thing
after it's gone.
(janet)
comfort is private and internal
its never gone, just sometimes low
and covered by my infections.
(me)
i take comfort in needing you. i take comfort in
needing. i take comfort in needing. i find no comfort
in needing.
in the desert. in the desert. i cant see in the
desert.
in the woodland, in the sea. in the desert.
in the desert deep inside of me.
(janet)
blind as bats but just as keen
feared in myth and loved by fiction
we dwell and dwell and hang upside down
we're bats that stalk by day.
(i say, "janet, i cant write anymore."
she say's, "thats okay.")
(she writes)
we stop.
(then i write)
we're blind as bats we love by night we're blind as
bats we love by night we're blind as bats we love by
night.
the end.