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Ode to Max Fischer

Bird song
The open freeway in middle distance
Curious children with god-like intonations
Sings through this open window
Sunday afternoon
Even the exuberant post-time rumble of an old V12
Blushes at its intrusion and slinks away
A newborn beats a time with ageless wails for attention
Even the dirty old trees find some peace in this day

Of course war doesn’t stop
The news will come on again, is still being made
The same as every other day
If it doesn’t bring you tears, maybe next sunday

This room is empty it is peace
The afternoon breeze promises holidays
There, work and chores sitting around in mute impatience
There are flowers in bloom, petals falling and death
The same as yesterday

There is love still on this old earth and in our tired ways
It is all an epiphany
Surreal
Should rain fall from the blue hewn expanse
Moisture rising from the dust
Mud clinging to bare feet
It would still be the same
Perfection

JiminyC,

Very nice sense of continuity on the outside, whilst the "empty
room" allows a countenance (if read within an Eastern meditative
context).

I like this a lot, James .


~ Lizzy

JiminyC,

... And I share Lizzy's sentiment about liking the poem.

... and I share Steven's comments as to some of the reasons why.


~ Lizzy

Thank you both very much for your sentiments, I'm lost for words now which is not so bad a thing at all, I do feel it will be a challange for me to write something again like this one and I'm over the moon that you both enjoyed it.

Completely lost for words,
James.

Thanks for this wonderful poem Jiminy. I have no doubt you'll write many more of this ilk. It had a "suchness" about it

Peace

Bernard

oh you.
Hope you are all in good health.
James.

Hi James,

Just read this poem and wow, yes, I can see why you've got so many responses on this one. It really conjures a feeling like a still, heavy afternoon when everything in the air feels timeless and pertinent.

There is love still on this old earth and in our tired ways
It is all an epiphany
Surreal
Should rain fall from the blue hewn expanse
Moisture rising from the dust
Mud clinging to bare feet
It would still be the same
Perfection

I love that.

Thanks,

Diane

It really conjures a feeling like a still, heavy afternoon when everything in the air feels timeless and pertinent.

Yes, it does.

And I know those days well and love them.


~ Lizzy

The cricket feels loved, so he preens and starts rubbing his legs ready to jump; its what a cricket do's.

Thanks again for all the encouragement and kindness, can I say, no I don't know if I can, but Just to Buy Some Coffee is a much better poem!



And so is War Photographer

And Tuscany Views, where I hold Graham Greene's hand, well I won't be moved much more than that in a while. But you like this one, thats fine.

xxx