BlueIris
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Wed Sep-23-09 03:14 PM
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The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 9/23/09 |
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"Evening Song"
The crickets go on with their shrill music. The sun drops down.
What was it my brother said to me once in Charleston, before he disappeared that spring like the quick wake of a water mite?
This was 1980, evening, the porch lights burning. He was reading from The Cloud of Unknowing.
Robins gossiped in the poplars, moths spiraled across the uncut grass. Moonlight wormed through the neighboring lawns.
We must therefore pray...not in many words, but in a little word of one syllable.
Didn't he say forgiveness was his homely double? Didn't he say what I wanted him to say? Maybe I wasn't listening, chewing a branch of sassafras...
But I doubt it. As I doubt, now, that the life of my lawn is a still life, the moon and shrill chants
opinions on despair. There are times when the sound the world makes is a little word. Something like help, or yes...
~Tom Andrews
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BlueIris
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Wed Sep-23-09 04:10 PM
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Right up there with the best ever, I say.
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CaliforniaPeggy
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Wed Sep-23-09 04:31 PM
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It's certainly subtle.
Best ever? I don't know...
I had to work to get this one, and I'm not sure how many folks are willing to do that...
Still, I appreciate your efforts...
:hi:
Have you listened to any of my recordings?
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Tuesday Afternoon
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Wed Sep-23-09 09:39 PM
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