Birthday

[ampoule]

Birthday

I read your poem on my birthday,
the one about her that I thought was for me,
I fainted to the floor, hitting my head
upon the pile of books, thrashing,

There it was, the Velveteen Woman,
my tears dry now, tracing its spine, the engraved title,
and then the lips you kissed,
Fingertips, warm hands, glorious body,
I petted my velvet skin, full of response,

And after a very long while,

I quietly knew,

Your poem was for me, a gift of truth,
Freedom,

My birthing day,
I am real, so very very real.

ampoule, May TwentySecond, TwoThousandEight

[PrinceMyshkin]

Birthday

I read your poem on my birthday,
the one about her that I thought was for me,
I fainted to the floor, hitting my head
upon the pile of books, thrashing,

There it was, the Velveteen Woman,
my tears dry now, tracing it's spine, the engraved title,
and then the lips you kissed,
Fingertips, warm hands, glorious body,
I petted my velvet skin, full of response,

And after a very long while,

I quietly knew,

Your poem was for me, a gift of truth,
Freedom,

My birthing day,
I am real, so very very real.

ampoule, May TwentySecond, TwoThousandEight

No one here, in his or her right mind, could doubt your reality but more than that the simultaneously gentle and urgent quality of it.

[Virgil]

This is very good Amp. I really liked this stanza:

There it was, the Velveteen Woman,
my tears dry now, tracing it's spine, the engraved title,
and then the lips you kissed,
Fingertips, warm hands, glorious body,
I petted my velvet skin, full of response,
Interesting word velveteen. Really good conclusion too. This is a fine little gem. :)

[dibyendra]

Birthday

I read your poem on my birthday,
the one about her that I thought was for me,
I fainted to the floor, hitting my head
upon the pile of books, thrashing,

There it was, the Velveteen Woman,
my tears dry now, tracing it's spine, the engraved title,
and then the lips you kissed,
Fingertips, warm hands, glorious body,
I petted my velvet skin, full of response,

And after a very long while,

I quietly knew,

Your poem was for me, a gift of truth,
Freedom,

My birthing day,
I am real, so very very real.

ampoule, May TwentySecond, TwoThousandEight

I really appreciate this heartfelt poem of yours Amp! Very touching! The feelings are quite lively.:thumbs_up

By the way, if you wouldn't mind, could you please show us the birthday poem that you've described here?

[ampoule]

Thank you SOOO much, Prince, Virgil and Dibyendra. Virgil, perhaps you have heard of the very popular children's book, The Velveteen Rabbit??

[Virgil]

Thank you SOOO much, Prince, Virgil and Dibyendra. Virgil, perhaps you have heard of the very popular children's book, The Velveteen Rabbit??

No I've never heard of it.

[ampoule]

It's a sweet story about a stuffed rabbit that is loved into becoming real.

[firefangled]

This is truly wonderful and the Velveteen Rabbit "touch" to the poem quite imaginative.

It is difficult for me to read that book still without tears.

[ampoule]

Thank you very much, Fire. Yes, the Velveteen Rabbit is very touching. There really is a book called the Velveteen Woman also. It's a study based on the rabbit story.

[Umbilical]

What I'm wondering is,
if there's a point where we all meet...
and you/they are "full of response", how
do you know if that 'completion' of response (the edges)
is your pleasure, or that the other persons pleasure has filled its own capacity/reached the whole length.

Just a question.


Your poem made me more gay than I already am. Thanks a f_cking lot.

=P

[CdnReader]

Birthday

I read your poem on my birthday,
the one about her that I thought was for me,
I fainted to the floor, hitting my head
upon the pile of books, thrashing,

There it was, the Velveteen Woman,
my tears dry now, tracing it's spine, the engraved title,
and then the lips you kissed,
Fingertips, warm hands, glorious body,
I petted my velvet skin, full of response,

And after a very long while,

I quietly knew,

Your poem was for me, a gift of truth,
Freedom,

My birthing day,
I am real, so very very real.

ampoule, May TwentySecond, TwoThousandEight

I've been thinking about this poem for two days, and wondering what to say. I still don't know what to say, except that it's beautiful and resonant and expresses a world of meaning that I truly truly understand.

Thank you, Amp.

[ampoule]

What I'm wondering is,
if there's a point where we all meet...
and you/they are "full of response", how
do you know if that 'completion' of response (the edges)
is your pleasure, or that the other persons pleasure has filled its own capacity/reached the whole length.

Just a question.


Your poem made me more gay than I already am. Thanks a f_cking lot.

=P

You're welcome???
All I know and the only way I can give you 'just an answer' is that I was alone.

[ampoule]

I've been thinking about this poem for two days, and wondering what to say. I still don't know what to say, except that it's beautiful and resonant and expresses a world of meaning that I truly truly understand.

Thank you, Amp.

The fact that you said anything means everything. Thank you and I truly truly believe that you understand. :)

[ampoule]

I really appreciate this heartfelt poem of yours Amp! Very touching! The feelings are quite lively.:thumbs_up

By the way, if you wouldn't mind, could you please show us the birthday poem that you've described here?

Thank you Diby. I'm afraid I do not have permission to show you the poem...shhh, it's a secret. ;) :D I happened to read this quote this morning and found it very interesting.

Michael Chabon said, "Literature, like magic, has always been about the handling of secrets, about the pain, the destruction, and the marvelous liberation that can result when they are revealed. If a writer doesn't give away secrets, his own or those of the people he loves, if he doesn't court disapproval, reproach and general wrath, whether of friends, family or party apparatchiks ... the result is pallid, inanimate, a lump of earth."

So, maybe I should, give away the secret....

[firefangled]

Thank you Diby. I'm afraid I do not have permission to show you the poem...shhh, it's a secret. ;) :D I happened to read this quote this morning and found it very interesting.

Michael Chabon said, "Literature, like magic, has always been about the handling of secrets, about the pain, the destruction, and the marvelous liberation that can result when they are revealed. If a writer doesn't give away secrets, his own or those of the people he loves, if he doesn't court disapproval, reproach and general wrath, whether of friends, family or party apparatchiks ... the result is pallid, inanimate, a lump of earth."

So, maybe I should, give away the secret....

The secrets and mysteries in your poems are too marvelous to give away. I do think some of what you quote above is true, but the key to a secret should always be kept within another secret.

I am given to overthinking things, but to me a secret is a holy thing, even a small one, even one given to a candle flame. Secrets are not deceptions (a much different thing). How exactly we exist and make beauty in all its forms remains a secret after all our years. What we see on the surface is artiface to be stripped away to revel the secret within the secret.

Hsiang-yen said about secrets: One should not talk to a skilled hunter about what is forbidden by the Buddha.

Wallace Stevens said these things are to revealed like rubies reddened by rubies reddening.

So, Ampoule, do not so readily reveal these mysteries. I for one relish them.

[ampoule]

A-ha, you must be thinking way back to Sinful Desires started by Prince or maybe "Green". I would love to know your thoughts on that. And you, sir, are a total mystery to me, like the fog written about in the word thread. I know you are there but I can't quite make you out. I hear your voice but it bounces around in the fog and I keep turning to see where it is coming from.