Small poems to get back into the habit, with a melancholy bent.
————
Loneliness of not knowing,
the single cherry tree
standing in the field,
waiting for wind.
————
Look! The little maiden,
sad and unaccustomed
in the longness of the room.
————
For many days
in my mind I wrote you letters
in my mind I wrote you letters
and still the postman
comes near to me and sighs.
————
Love, how quickly you render me a fool!
————
The people in the morning
gaze outside:
a little rose girl cries.
Then listen all the while:
the bronze pipe
goes shuddering and dies.
————
What is there to know?
This creature is
no wit
no one
no wonder
and even if she counts on
all the populous stars
she is with
no-body
still.
————
It is true
what they say
the lonely hunter
is no less common
than the mouths
that breathe and sigh
and swallow down words
each in sup port a ble day.
Hooray for the habit! 🙂
These are kind of heartbreaking, Elizabeth, but lovely nevertheless.
Hooray for the habit! 🙂
These are kind of heartbreaking, Elizabeth, but lovely nevertheless.
My darling Elizabeth,
WRITE MORE POEMS.
Please’s & thank-you’s, (or pleases/thank-yous?)
Shannon
My darling Elizabeth,
WRITE MORE POEMS.
Please’s & thank-you’s, (or pleases/thank-yous?)
Shannon
Small poems to get back into the habit, with a melancholy bent.
Small echoes to spur you on, in synchronous tune.
————
Loneliness of not knowing,
the single cherry tree
standing in the field,
waiting for wind.
And the breeze awakens,
though the clouds
do not open,
promise of company.
————
Look! The little maiden,
sad and unaccustomed
in the longness of the room.
Stay! She is but a doll,
peaceful and eternally
guarding the master’s books
————
For many days
in my mind I wrote you letters
in my mind I wrote you letters
and still the postman
comes near to me and sighs.
For many years
in my heart I sang to you
in my heart I sang sad songs
and not yet
have you unlatched your window.
————
Love, how quickly you render me a fool!
Folly, how quickly you render me happy!
————
The people in the morning
gaze outside:
a little rose girl cries.
Then listen all the while:
the bronze pipe
goes shuddering and dies.
The breathless instrument
is yet alive:
but deeper, further inside
Few hear for much longer:
the golden charms
however deeper and stronger
————
What is there to know?
This creature is
no wit
no one
no wonder
and even if she counts on
all the populous stars
she is with
no-body
still.
When they come down,
it would be
still seeking
still naming
still empty
and even if she counts on
all mountains in the sea
she is with
still no
reply?
Small poems to get back into the habit, with a melancholy bent.
Small echoes to spur you on, in synchronous tune.
————
Loneliness of not knowing,
the single cherry tree
standing in the field,
waiting for wind.
And the breeze awakens,
though the clouds
do not open,
promise of company.
————
Look! The little maiden,
sad and unaccustomed
in the longness of the room.
Stay! She is but a doll,
peaceful and eternally
guarding the master’s books
————
For many days
in my mind I wrote you letters
in my mind I wrote you letters
and still the postman
comes near to me and sighs.
For many years
in my heart I sang to you
in my heart I sang sad songs
and not yet
have you unlatched your window.
————
Love, how quickly you render me a fool!
Folly, how quickly you render me happy!
————
The people in the morning
gaze outside:
a little rose girl cries.
Then listen all the while:
the bronze pipe
goes shuddering and dies.
The breathless instrument
is yet alive:
but deeper, further inside
Few hear for much longer:
the golden charms
however deeper and stronger
————
What is there to know?
This creature is
no wit
no one
no wonder
and even if she counts on
all the populous stars
she is with
no-body
still.
When they come down,
it would be
still seeking
still naming
still empty
and even if she counts on
all mountains in the sea
she is with
still no
reply?