SwansSoilMe/SwansSaveMe
12-20-2005, 01:07 PM
(...or, Swans Are Dead)
I believe Tom was sincere. I don't think he wrote Death Poems daring people to deface it and reduce an eBay profit, I think he wrote it for us...for you, who are going to die one day. And, of course, for himself.
So that last section of my copy of the book stands there, as yet unmarked, while I continue flipping through the pages of each day of my life. Somehow the heft is heavy, but the remaining pages appear few. So there's this feeling that soon enough I may take a pen to that section. Meanwhile, why not practice here? And why not join me?
Anything will do. Pieces similar or entirely dissimilar to Tom's poems. While my first one brews, I'm going to start with one from a few years ago. I didn't have a title for this one until now (thanks):
"Unentitled"
Going to my grave,
Gathering there –-
We all wished and it was so.
Bearing our bliss, we
Summoned the chalk and
It was written. For me,
For them, for you…
A life-tantrum, tilting the
Tombstone.
Ground moistening, damping,
Sole on soul tamping, and
Exited the noise, we; gathered because we
Were distant,
Hearing through new ears, here where
Life was taken in ever smaller doses,
Love a series of poses
By any account. And now we can smell ourselves.
All gather now.
All to a stop.
Check our pulse, see who’s missing.
Come the sexton we will
Scurry. Let our
Beating hearts be confused with time,
This will not surprise us,
Shouldn’t. Something
Ever there, or we
Created it. Patience has tried us, and
We didn’t trust it. Maybe now.
Maybe even the flock above
Will be interested once we are
Reduced to essentials.
Frozen flock.
All together served notice of death.
Never felt
So alive.
(Dr. B., I hope this is what your message meant.)
I believe Tom was sincere. I don't think he wrote Death Poems daring people to deface it and reduce an eBay profit, I think he wrote it for us...for you, who are going to die one day. And, of course, for himself.
So that last section of my copy of the book stands there, as yet unmarked, while I continue flipping through the pages of each day of my life. Somehow the heft is heavy, but the remaining pages appear few. So there's this feeling that soon enough I may take a pen to that section. Meanwhile, why not practice here? And why not join me?
Anything will do. Pieces similar or entirely dissimilar to Tom's poems. While my first one brews, I'm going to start with one from a few years ago. I didn't have a title for this one until now (thanks):
"Unentitled"
Going to my grave,
Gathering there –-
We all wished and it was so.
Bearing our bliss, we
Summoned the chalk and
It was written. For me,
For them, for you…
A life-tantrum, tilting the
Tombstone.
Ground moistening, damping,
Sole on soul tamping, and
Exited the noise, we; gathered because we
Were distant,
Hearing through new ears, here where
Life was taken in ever smaller doses,
Love a series of poses
By any account. And now we can smell ourselves.
All gather now.
All to a stop.
Check our pulse, see who’s missing.
Come the sexton we will
Scurry. Let our
Beating hearts be confused with time,
This will not surprise us,
Shouldn’t. Something
Ever there, or we
Created it. Patience has tried us, and
We didn’t trust it. Maybe now.
Maybe even the flock above
Will be interested once we are
Reduced to essentials.
Frozen flock.
All together served notice of death.
Never felt
So alive.
(Dr. B., I hope this is what your message meant.)