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B U T T E R F L I E . . P I N S

Submitted by Esker on Wed, 2012-09-19 22:41

not in a dream
but you were there
you

alive..

history rising like ashs
smoking whorls
dervish winds

we looked up eachs
souls
touch to touch
tete to tete

while the blue pearl
of sadness climbed
down upon us in a mist

great waves of betrayal
in winter rains

you are pinning
remnant poems
like skins of hearts

Your Butterfly Pins
in a cup you make me
hold

you look up
I fall in
this world

again

Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Esker

Wed, 2012-09-19 22:43

Esker's picture

for Lacey!!

author comment

Geezer

Thu, 2012-09-20 02:40

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You leave me with vivid scenes flowing through my mind. Nothing to critique. You've done an excellent job in reworking this one. ~ Gee

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

Esker

Thu, 2012-09-20 08:08

Esker's picture

This is from the old Neopoet Archive site/
One of my older works from 2009
I want to say Thanks to Andrew and Paul
for still making that possible after the crash.

I miss the old Neopoet layout intense
like all things we do not appreciate fully
what we have
until it is lost

and in this case
it is not Lost

thankful for that indeed!!

and for your comment Gee

author comment

loved

Thu, 2012-09-20 12:49

loved's picture

the vivid picture of a guy
sleeping on the bench
in down town Canada
IN BROAD DAY LIGHT
flashes by
nude, stark naked
see through and through
but what an inner wear he wore
no one can >>>
wow what a site twas
as passers-by peaked
I was not alone in thinking
was he a beggar indeed....
but twas...

loved

Esker

Thu, 2012-09-20 22:31

Esker's picture

we are unabashed peoples
for the most
still polite
still tolerant of our naked dreamers
and lost souls

I remember dirty jesus
in his piss torn jeans
turning a twenty from a kind asian
man north of Eglinton and just below
Lawrence..one of the more wealtheir
and hip avenues of that city...
"I have money
"
he said...he lived in a blue tarp room
under a quiet bridge
tolerated then

Canada so sublime but its undercurrent
as dark as any
just different

Thank You Loved

author comment

loved

Thu, 2012-09-20 23:35

loved's picture

mostly i am in Canada and USA mainly
the world of sex and human evaluations
in Canada SURELY
and States are very different
Thanks for the poem please

loved

Esker

Thu, 2012-09-20 23:54

Esker's picture

you describe it such

I went to OCA we are used to nude models
young and old for sketching
and a friend who had model pretty crazy
people wander about topless
sexiness a must!!
canada rockers showing like Serena Ryder
to campfire

been there done that

author comment

loved

Fri, 2012-09-21 01:53

loved's picture

have seen the world of nudity
since I was less than six,
the world's a maddening sexing place
all artists are at their best after sex
till then all is imagination in dreams
till one has inside been
and absorbed the juices driven all crazy
others become lazy
but artists hazy
and thus create artistry
none can imagine nor see
what was inside the poets,
artists,
modelers mind
all imagination is left far behind
in deeper slumber there after

loved

judyanne

Fri, 2012-09-21 14:24

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I really love this write esker

as I was reading it the song ‘memories’ sounded in my head

I especially like
‘history rising like ashs
smoking whorls
dervish winds’

and
‘while the blue pearl
of sadness climbed
down upon us in a mist’

and a great finish…
love judy
xxx

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

Esker

Fri, 2012-09-21 22:21

Esker's picture

but clung steadfast to the smaller writers
the pulp fictions
Canadian oddities like Stan Dragland
from out west
or The Torn Skirt by Rebecca Godfrey
Davies.. Atwood...Riechler..etc

Memories of younger youth when young
and now at older age
Glasses age..white hair age
Obituary watcher age

the new fangled world
cell phones and text ing
the internet is complicated enough

I read passages from Bobsey Twins
and Peter Straub that made me want
to write

Betty and Veronica dialogue

to silent film subtitles
in languages that are magic
unknown still

I shall die soon.. twenty years
we shant live forever and why

these salted treasures are a
feast for nibbling when the hunger
for our persistant imagination
comes and wakes us

thirsty for a cool glass of water
in the night for dreams

Thank You!

author comment

loved

Sat, 2012-09-22 02:23

loved's picture

Memories of younger youth when young
and now at older age
Glasses age..white hair age
Obituary watcher age

these salted treasures are a
feast for nibbling when the hunger
for our persistant imagination
comes and wakes us

thirsty for a cool glass of water
in the night for dreams

loved

wesley snow

Sat, 2012-09-22 17:18

wesley snow's picture
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So this is old Esker? Or rather, young Esker reworked by old Esker?

The image of you holding the cup that held the pins while she "reads" was my place.
But lest I fail you... "ashes" needs another "e" and I had trouble with the plurals in this line-

we looked up eachs
souls

Yes, I'm back. God help you all.
wesley

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Esker

Sat, 2012-09-22 17:30

Esker's picture

"eachs souls" a bit of a stretch for proper english
and I love it!! like wet socks in rubbers
a squishy kind of working

souls in rain
perhaps...

Look up like in hook up??

dunno

author comment

wesley snow

Sat, 2012-09-22 17:43

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Squish on.
wesley

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
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Nordic cloud

Wed, 2012-09-26 03:22

Nordic cloud's picture

I was not fond of "eachs souls"
or the repetition of pinning and pins.

I feel this, reading for the first time,
needs something
to make it into the delicate flutter
fixed in our minds as a poem,
to be great as your poems are,

their haiku-like breath
steaming the window of our consciousness
just enough to make them magically intense.

Now I hall re read it. L Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

Seren

Wed, 2012-09-26 07:24

Seren's picture

As always you paint the picture for me and take me on the journey ....Brilliant !!

I do have one suggestion

we looked up eachs
souls

we look up each
soul

when spoken out loud it has a better flow

always a pleasure reading you

hugz Jc

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

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