Sunday, June 6, 2010
Repetition in 3/4 time
Empty lines-
Now there are not enough notes-
and I am missing notes-
I am missing your notes
too much time passing
two, three, four, five
too much, much, too much
and I am missing my notes
I am, missing,
I am missing my-
waiting, waiting, waiting,
resting, resting, resting,
enough rest for a pillow
give me the sound-
Recitative, recess and heave-
I am declaimed in your rhythm,
but the rhythm has not declined,
the metronome is ticking,
time, bomb, ticking, time,
ticking, ticking, ticking
ticking time,
ticking time bomb,
time has bombed,
time has exploded
the sound is dead
there is death
death in the sound
dead sound
into sound, there
it is the dull hum
the vibration.
where have you been?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
-
RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
-
and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
-
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
-
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but...
I once knew a young and immature person who swore that repetition had no place in poetry, but I couldn't disagree more.
ReplyDeleteRepetition, not just in poetry, is the best way to re-affirm something.
But look who's talking...
I'm sorry, could you repeat what you just said, I didn't catch it... ;)
ReplyDeleteI love love love this. <3
ReplyDeletethanks lovely Dana
ReplyDelete