people
wait
in your head,
aspirin
there,
on the radio,
you too,
a poem,
almost —
ringing
phone
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people
wait
in your head,
aspirin
there,
on the radio,
you too,
a poem,
almost —
ringing
phone
I love "Queue," Firefangled. Very short, like what contempt. life does to our attention spans. This tiny poem of yours actually does what is says. An example of John Ciardi's stmt: "A poem does not mean but be." (obviously I'm paraphrasing. Will look up the exact quote.)
Ever notice the homonym,"cue"? Think there's some connection?
Over here we usually say "line" (another connection with
"line" and "phone.") In most of the USA it's waiting in line; in New York City, for some reason it's "on" line.
Decisions
line up like
footsteps
in
the
sand.
Tidal waters
wash them
out to
sea.
Petals
floating
on a
stream -
Your hair
smells of
sunflowers.
Your hands, soft and gentle
The first time we touched
Your hands, strong and skilled
Every time we touch
You hands, sure and knowing
Each time we are together
You hands tenderly
Hold my heart
Thanks, AuntShecky. I've often wondered about cue and queue. Queue is so much more what line tries to be. It is a definite line reason.
We have line dancing in which everyone is dancing while waiting to get in or pay, or get cash from the ATM?
We have a gas line (I won't even go there.)
There is, of course, a line of reasoning, where everyone is standing behind one another trying to figure something out.
There is a support line, which reminds me of the story of Bertrand Russell giving a lecture somewhere on astronomy. At the end of the lecture during questions an old woman way in the back stood up and said, "What you just finished saying is garbage. The earth is flat, not round, and it is not supported by gravity; it is supported on the back of a giant tortoise." Russell asked her, "And what is supporting the tortoise?" The old woman snapped back, "You think you are very clever young man, very smart, asking me that, but it is turtles all the way down."
And this is why I love the word queue, even though I am standing in the line marked U.S.A.
John Ciardi's, How a Poem Means - Great book!
Truth
snuck up from behind
and sucked out
my
breath
[QUOTE=AuntShecky;436511]I love "Queue," Firefangled. Very short, like what contempt. life does to our attention spans. This tiny poem of yours actually does what is says. An example of John Ciardi's stmt: "A poem does not mean but be." (obviously I'm paraphrasing. Will look up the exact quote.)
It was John Ciardi -- it was Archibald MacLeish:
the closing line to Ars Poetica:
"A poem should not mean but be."
"Decisions" by The Fifth Element is a patterned poem, in which the lines of the text are arranged in a pattern or a pictograph. Another example is "Easter Wings" by George Herbert. When you turn the page that the poem is on, it is in the shape of what the poem describes.
That's what I tried to do here, a pattern poem. When I was thinking of avarice for the thread, 'and the word is...', I kept thinking of all the books and CDs and papers that I can't seem to do without and the picture of a friendship ball I had received that came full of decadent chocolates came to mind. I'm not sure they have anything to do with each other but that's what came to mind. Maybe it looks more like a top or a bobber. Oh well.
More
More
More for me
I really need more
I shall never have enough
Stack it here, stack it there
On the desk or under the chair
The shelf is full, spilled on the floor
I can still walk through it so give me more
What's that I hear, a knock at my door
I cannot get to it so I'll just ignore
The outstretched hand in need
Curse their incessant greed
I just don't have enough
They don't need more
More than me
More
Ampoule, you are really brilliant at this art. I am truly humbled.
[may I also add that the name 'ampoule' means lightbulb in French, and I think of those beautiful little lights that one sees on a Christmas tree, when I read your avatar name -- hmmm, random of me, but I wanted to say that.] :)
I am moving.
The Earth is moving.
The sky is moving.
Peace
is in motion.
Midnight sweat spills
off your forehead
in to my heart.
Too long a part.
Too soon to part.