Mair Lochs

[hallaig]

Listening


I am listening to the poet,
his voice as fluid and quiet
as the places he’s been.
A bit of me is in Lochaline
by a sea loch flat with cloud
and part is here, too,
sensing the dip of your head,
hearing the breath of you,
and bit by bit it’s the same,
the hills and the dreams,
the water and the breathing,
it’s the same thing:
an inch, or miles, apart,
the same unbridgeable gap.

[Hawkman]

I sense this may have been inspired by ea's poem.

That last line is tragic in the light of the exquisite description of the intimate moment sketched before it. But is this a recurring theme? I'm sure the same sentiment was expressed in "Hare."

Live and be well. H

[hallaig]

Too true. My theme for a year, actually. Apart from a poem I wrote about a potato.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I on the other hand could do without that last line, which tells me too much or rather instructs me in how to feel; whereas I'm sure I would get to that feeling on my own by way of the line before. Content aside, the seeming effortlessness of this is what moves me so much.

[everyadventure]

I saw the word "loch" in the title and saved the best for last as I perused the forums this morning...

It is hard for me to comment on a poem that feels perfect, because how can you say more when it's all just been said? Suffice it to say I loved it.

(PS: I read your meandering potato poem, and found it delightfully unexpected.)

[Jack of Hearts]

Nitpicking aside, this reader is going to start calling you The Postman because you always deliver.







J