Intimations

[PrinceMyshkin]

A shiver of something quick
goes through us now and then,
as if
the misaligned heart


were about to fracture under bone
or, far off in outer space,
a silent planet thinned itself
against the dark, unknown.



J. Newman Sudden Proclamations © 1992

[quasimodo1]

...of Immortality"

[Lote-Tree]

William Wordsworth...

[PrinceMyshkin]

Come to me here or come to me there.
Sing to me of sweet summer air
or of the springtime of the soul.
Take my parts and make them whole.

Come to me in the winter of despair.
Take my hand and lead me where
I have so long longed to be.
Open my eyes that I may see

That which is forever fair.
Come to me here or come to me there.


Jerry Newman © June 6, 2007

[motherhubbard]

If I had read this without knowing you wrote it, I would not have associated it with you. I like this, not as well as some of your others, but it was a lovely invitation one could hardly refuse. I hope you shared it with the person you were talking to, perhaps a lover or a relative-

[Bii]

Hi Myshkin - I enjoyed both of these, but 'Intimations' in particular is very effective. Don't know why I didn't comment on this before. I'd single out a line or phrase but they're all good.

Your second poem 'Come to me here' I don't think is one of your best, but that being said it's still good! It reads like a song to me - perhaps you ought to write a tune?

[PrinceMyshkin]

Hi Myshkin - I enjoyed both of these, but 'Intimations' in particular is very effective. Don't know why I didn't comment on this before. I'd single out a line or phrase but they're all good.

Since you refer to me in such a familiar way (which is fine with me), I assume I can address you as ii? Saves me hitting the Shift key.

If I can say this without sounding either boastful or falsely modest, I don't know how I came to write "Intimations." Doubt I could do it today. In fact I had this funny experience once. I hadn't written poetry in quite some time but as I was driving along I could feel that familiar something - sort of a faint rhythm - that signalled the beginning of a poem and one it excited me to get on with writing until--

Damn! I realized that what was coming to mind was "Intimations," and I'd already written it many years before. I feel that it comes from some place in me that not even a slew of therapists have ever been able to reach.

[Bii]

Since you refer to me in such a familiar way (which is fine with me), I assume I can address you as ii? Saves me hitting the Shift key.

If I can say this without sounding either boastful or falsely modest, I don't know how I came to write "Intimations." Doubt I could do it today. In fact I had this funny experience once. I hadn't written poetry in quite some time but as I was driving along I could feel that familiar something - sort of a faint rhythm - that signalled the beginning of a poem and one it excited me to get on with writing until--

Damn! I realized that what was coming to mind was "Intimations," and I'd already written it many years before. I feel that it comes from some place in me that not even a slew of therapists have ever been able to reach.

You could just go with 'b' - I'm not particular about capitals.

Isn't that weird, the strange fuzzy feeling that comes with the start of a poem, and the agitation which follows until it is finished. I'm beginning to wonder how I lived without it.

[PrinceMyshkin]

You could just go with 'b' - I'm not particular about capitals.

Isn't that weird, the strange fuzzy feeling that comes with the start of a poem, and the agitation which follows until it is finished. I'm beginning to wonder how I lived without it.

Are you trying to persuade us that toad-in-the-hole, bangers and mash, Lancashire Hotpot and whatever it is you Brits do to overboiled peas, not to mention the British equivalent of sex were not a satisfactory substitute? Bollocks!

[ravin]

I wear a quilt
when I need….
Hand stitched
and set in soft cotton,
the cheeky calico patchwork ,
plays innocence
in the snow country setting
of pure white.
How many lamps,
how many maidens,
hands held steady,
as each straight row,
was sewn into being?
Creatresses,
my ancestors,
making art of scrap,
and frugality.
A beauty
that wraps me,
warms me,
and holds me still,
in the arms of my ancestors.

[ravin]

Hey Prince, thanks. Am likin' it.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I wear a quilt
when I need….
Hand stitched
and set in soft cotton,
the cheeky calico patchwork ,
plays innocence
in the snow country setting
of pure white.
How many lamps,
how many maidens,
hands held steady,
as each straight row,
was sewn into being?
Creatresses,
my ancestors,
making art of scrap,
and frugality.
A beauty
that wraps me,
warms me,
and holds me still,
in the arms of my ancestors.

Love this - and it doesn't rhyme, Wa-hooo!

[kiz_paws]

Hey Jer, I loved Come To Me Here, if I got a poem like that I'd probably sit down and cry. Thanks for the touching verse. :)

And ravin, I loved your poem, too, especially those last two lines. Wonderful. (I am a part-time quilter, myself, ha-ha!)