Wednesday, April 18, 2012



Too far too far

you’ve gone so far
too far to know
just where you are.

The way’s too steep
the play’s too long.
The curtain falls
the lines are  wrong;

too far to hear
a wisp of song.

The storms blow in
the wind cuts hard
the new chicks scratch
in an empty yard

too far to cry
from where you are.

No place for thee
on land or sea
No home for me
but where you are

too far

April 2012

Images © joy ann jones 2012


  1. Childlike, and sad. This reminds me of Joni Mitchell's lines in My Old Man . . . the bed's too big, the frying pan's too wide . . . though your blue lament may be for a child, not a lover. Either way, home is where the heart is. Poignant work, Hedge.

  2. I love this - the lament, the rhyme, the 'forever after' kind of love, despite separation.

  3. This is lovely, Joy. The rhyme, the song, the repetition, a true lament indeed. Terrific. I am not going to comment on the punctuation (unless you want my specific views here. I'm guessing you don't.) And really there's nothing truly confusing about it. (Though I always like to see some good semi-colons, and you've only got one, I believe!)

    I love the chickens, and of course, the end, and the beginning.

    What I also find kind of interesting is the seeming shift (at times) in who is too far, the point of view, as it were, where sometimes it's the writer that's the focus (where all is wrong), and sometimes it's the you too far from the writer. The only line that threw me a bit was the "too far to cry from where you are." I kept wanting to read it "too far to cry to where you are" but of course, that would be writer (or scratching chicks) crying out, not the you--there is kind of a poignancy of the other side crying out. (Am I over=analyzing?) (Yes!)

    Anyway, lovely. k

  4. You know those songs, that you sit and absorb. Your soul weeps inside, and you still sit and listen. A small smile and an ironic peacefulness your companions as you listen. This is like that.

  5. This feels like pain too deep and real to dress up. Beautifully done, Hedge.

    1. Thanks, MZ, and thanks for all the comments today. Hope all is well with you and yours.

    2. I can't say it any better than MZ did. "Even witches cry". I know, dear friend, I know.

  6. Very poignant. Especially "new chicks scratch in an empty yard". Absolutely perfectly written. I love it.

  7. Hi Joy, coming back to revisit your Lament. It really is lovely. I am not sure I can come up with one today--a poem, I mean. Not a lament. (I don't mean to compare my instant lament to your poem!) K.

    1. Thanks, K. It's a hard poem for me to talk about. I wouldn't feel bad about missing a day--you can always write two short ones and make up--or not worry about it--it's a challenge, not a mandatory penance. :_)

  8. This makes me think of my children.... the older they get, the less influence I have and I can't help them like I used to. When their world falls apart, I sometimes don't even know it until later... and then I'm too far away ... or just a mother they don't need in that way anymore... (sigh)

    It also made me think of a dear one who used to be a part of my life and is now gone... (moved away) and my life, the places we used to go, just aren't the same without her...

    Also made me think briefly of a "theatre family" and once the play is over.... all that camaraderie is gone and that can be a very hard thing too...

    Whatever specifically you meant, it is poignant. Sorry, I babbled here... :)

  9. May your tears be brief for your love's lament.

    P.S. the P S tune inside your head reverberates here.

  10. I don't think heart-songs can be sung otherwise than this -- naked feeling can only rip and tear. Poems like this are costly, searing a reach that stays scarred. But how else to properly sing the emptiness, except by spilling the most precious cup? - Brendan

  11. hullo....sorry i am so late...smiles....def a wringer of emotion...def feeling the child in this one more than the lover or another...and i have a hard time accepting too far gone until it is

  12. This is so sorrowfully a tragedy upon the fragile elegance of heartfelt tugs! I like this, a lot...
    The sheer yearning, the lamenting, played out in graceful, universal tone, this really pulled at me! So beautiful xoxo


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

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