Written for Desperate Poetry
From birth we ought to know your livid kiss idling on every organ; we sit awhile – say forty years - think we know permanence as the round and round, days on a checkered calendar. We can’t see or we won’t look but you’re there a gathered storm; your pleated darkness slapping its thunder at our doors. Living is a fixed term contract yet we appeal every clause ignoring the sunflowers and rainbows that bleach or wither; the desiccated rat its teeth stopped in quiet fury; the leaves underfoot softening to paste. In such desperate blindness we ignore your message... woe betide not being as special as we thought.
Out of the Cave 
We thought those blue skies would go on forever … Love how you personify the patient conclusion idly bleaching rainbows and leaves softening to paste. Saying so is a desperation that leads to truth. Thanks so for joining in, so good to read you again. – Brendan
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a memorable ‘memento mori’ of images, esp liked ‘the leaves underfoot softening to paste’, a phenomenon I never really knew how to describe —
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Thank you. I am glad to read your comment.
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Sorry didn’t mean to hit send. I wasn’t sure how understandable the poem was. But it os clear to me from your comment that you understood it. Thank you.
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Great take on the premise. Who are we writing for here. and are they even listening…though their presence is a living fact..especially like this language: “but you’re there/a gathered storm; /your pleated darkness/
slapping..”
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Just amazing. I read the first stanza, had to stop. The read it again an the second stanza, had to stop. Every line landing it’s punch. Would have to quote the whole thing.
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Thanks qbit for your generous comment. And thanks also for inviting me to Brendan’s new site. I really appreciate that.
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I suppose the flip side of this is that being aware that everything is temporary gives everything a bittersweet shine and value that it would otherwise lack.
–Shay
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Thanks Shay. I was in a dark mood. Of course you’re right. It’s hard to value something if it comes at no cost.
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You’ve folded a lot of wisdom in a handful of incredible lines and images. You know I’m a fan anyways Jo, but this one… every single line. Damn. Rainbows to the barred teeth of dead rats… no, not as special as we thought. Fortunate though, that poetry can swim in our bloodstreams like a deep dark beast.
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Thanks so much Chris. Your kind words mean a lot. Am finding so little time to write I hardly know whether what I do write is good or bad!
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