Letters For Breakfast

The way is level and easy but people prefer the byways

Z Last Page

This is my workshop and storage are, where I rework, rewrite and generally see if I want to change things already published.  So this is simply a place to do that, as I don’t keep any of the things posted on this blog on my computer.  

Like almost  any attic/workshop if is not neat or tidy, it just is.  And things will come and go, for that is what happens with things either stored or in the process of being worked on.

I do not let go of the emotion involved in a poem until it is out there and can’t be changed.

However, that letting go allows me to change a few things, a word or phrase I don’t especially like, but since he post is already published it won’t be changed.  So this has become my rewrite/play/ experiment page.

I am not claiming the poems are better here, not at all.  This allows me to play with, and not have to find them “later”, on my computer.

Ashes/San Ysidro

ORIGINAL

A January morning/blowing on my fingers to warm them/sun climbs over the Jemez, an ancient cedar.

A birdwatchers’ trail/you loved them beyond  reason/your ashes drift, fine as desert sand.

You  have gone/where coyote stole the stars/once upon a time, in a different dream.

Time has no meaning/then is now, for a moment.  I remember your hand on mine, the softness of your touch.

A cold November morning/blowing on my fingers to warm them/sun climbs over the Jemez, an ancient cedar. / A finch hunting seeds/you loved them beyond  reason/your ashes drift, fine as desert sand. / You  have gone/where coyote stole the stars/once upon a time in a different dream.  All is illusion/past becomes my present.  This, our moment. /  I feel your hand in mine, the softness of your touch.

Your first step/ and then mine.  I promise you, silently,/there are no words to express./We must part, for you step forward as I step back.

Your first step/and then mine/  We love, silently/there are no words to express. / We must part, for you step forward and I step back.

Sutra Love

We took leaves of palm/and sewed them,  /a lifetime in their joining.  / Words of  you and I,  writ soft upon them.

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5 thoughts on “Z Last Page

    1. 15 minutes after publishing it is officially done, sort of. 😨 I found that if I don’t publish, I refine until a poem becomes a mess. I juet write to satisfy my cravings, I don’t consider them important, normally.

      Liked by 1 person

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