silence

[ryokan]

8) Silence deeper than winter snows o'er the moorland
The meadow is white bound and crisp underfoot
Ravens soar and swerve through the season-shorn trees sounding mortality sugar maple aspen
liquid amber and Yew
Starlight a quivering brilliance up o'er the log house below nie high high above the forest tis starlight and there below a small tendril of white smoke

Sudden some one is there no one the tree shadow dancing strange trance

I am so old seeming out here on the frozen meadow I remember her
I do not forget
Embraces Holding hands is enough
Meanwhile moonrise hies me to silence and immovablity stunned by beauty deeper than all the universes combined
Pure light

There is a silence more vast than we can imagine
There is a comfort more deep than can be dreamed
There is a tenderness
wider than the sky

Down and down now o'er the crusty snow crackling footsteps and my willow stick plunging hard through the thick icy surface with a thump
I make my way heavy bound sounded soul clown to the door

And she is there so fair she has been so many years after my crazed night wanderings
She offers tea and cookies and a hug What more can an old man want

The memory of stars the freshness of snow and a kindred spirit waiting there longer than I can remember gentle and pure always
She used to go out with me We'd get lost and laugh and laugh astounding it is
How pure and filled with grace and wonder in her crystalline blue eyes
Gratitude and something for which there is no name from deep deep down in the spirit

Placid is the gentle night holding hands

[Phoenix_Tears]

I honestly cannot criticise your work ryokan. I get this black when i try to. Just to let you know i will not be giving you much more than an applaud.

[firestarter]

i have to agree with phoenix tears, this is one damn good poem, lol...

[Admin]

You're writing is very easy to read, it has excellent flow.

Seems a shame to keep it as mere text though. I think that your writing could be best appreciated in the spoken form.

[ryokan]

8) Thanks and gratitude,
all who have been touched
by these words.
Came I through the same wood
young Jimmy walked past
Howth Castle on his night
wanderings, when young.
He always said, "The only way
it can be understood is if it
is sung."

And thus, here, a little something from Jim. May you be touched the way I was, yea, so long ago:
from "Chamber Music"
II
"The twilight turns from amethyst
To deep and deeper blue.
The lamp fills with a pale green
glow
The trees of the avenue.

The old piano plays an air,
Sedate and slow and gay;
She bends upon the yellow keys,
Her head inclines this way.

Shy thoughts and grave wide eyes
and hands
That wander as they list-
The twilight turns to darker blue
With lights of amethyst."

From, "Pomes Pennyeach"

"A Flower Given to My Daughter"

"Frail white the rose and frail
are
Her hands that gave
Whose soul is sere and paler
Than time's wan wave.

Rosefrail and fair-- yet frailest
A wonder wild
In gentle eyes thou veilest,
My blueveined child."

James Joyce, Francis Thompson, Gerard Manley Hopkins..., all composed print that sang. After a lifetime of reading them aloud to myself with absolute stunned-still awe, I am grateful that some words I have left have did sing to some few.

And this, for those who love
pomes aloud:

"In the U.S. 40,000 people will gather to watch football. In Russia, 40,000 people will gather to hear poetry spoken aloud. That is the essential difference in our two lands."

from an interview with
John le Carre', whose
prose also _sings_.

Peace and owl song
Spun with star gleams
Upon the long long night.
Waiting, silent neath the Yew,
I count the graces given by
a saintly honest few.

Dream sweetly, on the gentle night.