select an audience.

Nope. no more love poems from me.

Not a single one pearl shaped and pinned,

ankle length like quick impressions made the

pedal-pushers hold inside of me.

It's my shibboleth I will say to

you, my truism; how I felt

when you want to mean a painful

thing which floats as a myth

like pushing a large stone in front of the garage.

Like having to go to work

knowing that a huge rock is there;

Right there.

Like tearing up stuck with the

motor running and your

cigarettes. Like first

feeling hungry, then going

to a sudden sleep

Like Sexton in her mothers finest mink coat.

Yeah, just like that.

Embodying beauty and translucence

just like that.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

sometime it will end...our muse will take a permanent hiatus...as Sexton's did toward the end of her life...and then there was the cigarette, the last one...the motor running and what was left of her muse, falling asleep in the front seat...Just like that!
when the writing is done, will there be more to live for? we can only hope---but for now, wonder.

[h d e rushin]

I try Jacob to prioritize the things in my life that make me really happy. And I've heard people say of Sexton (the writer not the tormented woman) that she was tired. And perhaps we can take tired to mean a host of things that impact our efforts on this earth. Thank you my friend for those insightful comments and good morning to you .....dana

[www]

Love the flow and again, it's as if I can hear you in my head. This piece is too good and too true.

[h d e rushin]

thank you so much Sherline Heriveaux...for those kind remarks......dana

[www]

All love!

[Shae]

This spoke to me so much. Keep up the magic miss. :-)

[h d e rushin]

thank you Shae for stopping by my friend.....dana

[Frank]

My spelling is eggsellent

[Frank]

I liked, logical layout, a story or narrative
Quite different to most of your work

Should translucent be translucence?

[h d e rushin]

thanks Frank for stopping by. And I forgot what a great speller you are.....Miss you....dana

[Frank]

Missed you too, shall star posting again.

[Cory Barrett]

The worst constipation that one can imagine is the one that cannot be relieved through our own will. And so we are stuck... banging on the f*****g door screaming that there is treasure inside, but the shelf life is now half life, and science is coming for its art. take it or leave it, i can give no more.

another damn good write.

[h d e rushin]

thank you dear brother for those comments and good morning to you....dana

[Lydia Shutter]

What will become of us when the writing does not flow from our minds to the naked page? Are we more than the sum total of our words? I would like to think so...and yet on days the words do not flow, life is not rosy. Love that you used a word so seldom used "shibboleth"....kudos to you. An understanding tribute to Sexton. Lydi**

[h d e rushin]

great question lydi....what will become of the ambitions of the poetry writers when brilliance
and radiant splendor is no longer enough.? I've thought about this often.....thank you my friend and good morning to you....dana

[Lydia Shutter]

Good Morning, Dana! :)

[W.k.kortas]

The Sexton imagery is arresting, disturbing (I am suddenly thankful that none of my father's old suits fit me), and I think of how utterly terrifying "confessional poetry" can be, the notion of throwing yourself out there for the whole world to see so critics and other lesser men can parse it and slot it into rankings like so many entries on the Billboard Top 40 (and doesn't this site ask us to go all American Bandstand and rate stuff, presumably as to whether we can dance to it or not?) Perhaps we should select our audience, if not simply hide our light under a bushel altogether, hmmm?

[h d e rushin]

youtube the old American band stand footage and surprisingly no one can really dance. But "to dance" in the 60's and 70's took on a different connotation from the decades before and for those that followed. I mean, who am I to rank another persons love or hurt since I can't dance at all?
And perhaps poetry is to dance what Dick Clark is to rhythm, just a lot of thrashing around
and loud talking.........Thank you for your insight my friend....dana

[Beccy]

Better yet, the audience selects the poet; that way, every word lives on in hearts and minds that measure not the passing, but treasure the beauty contained in every hard wrung line.

Beccy.

[h d e rushin]

beautifully said my friend....and good morning to you....dana

[Ed Hart]

we are many parts, and those who fall in love with one because it works well (like gathering an audience) for its season (shorter or longer, whatever) and then evaporates to the hot wind of years, where the horizon appears empty... well it's not empty, it's just unfamiliar, all those empty seats...love never was 'out there'...

you are dear to me...your poetry is windows, and of course, search lights

[h d e rushin]

sometimes I wake up and try to write like you Ed. I mean, spread out flat on my back with
the world burning in effigy through my ceiling fan. Then I think of what you've said about "many parts".."blossoming periods of intellectual and artistic fullness" Julian Huxley said. And it's never about trying to do anything like anyone else. Poetry is just about the part you play in it.
Thank you for stopping by to visit me again my friend.....dana