Tuesday, August 14, 2018

Still Life

Still Life

I sit
by a dish of light
with darkness at my back.
I throw in words,

flowers of flame; only
the dry, bright ones--
you, remember, once, then--

while I leave the sodden
syllables in a pile--
now, tomorrow, alone, gone--

for nothing
will make them

We can't speak the tongues
of each other's pain;
still, we huddle in light
and forgive.

~August, 2018

Image: Stilleben mit Blumen, 1908, by Heinrich Kuhn    Public domain


  1. I was going to ask if you've been in my head lately, but... I should know better: some things can never be poetized, transcribed out of someone else's feelings, they must be lived to read this real. My soul echoes your last stanza, glorious "flowers of flame".

  2. So beautiful, love-filled and painful, my friend. I love that you "huddle in the light". Sometimes that is all we can do.

  3. Welcome back :) I hope all's well. Beautifully expressed. Very touching.

  4. Surely not the grace of ease or comfort but grace nonetheless, found and burned in glory. May poems be peonies, even if they are scattered and rare. Best. --

  5. absolutely gripping and very quietly poignant and heart-breaking, yet perhaps, hopefully, also forgiving and of some comfort for peace and rest, in closure.

    Peace to you Joy.

  6. It is left to the poets to find beauty in pain, and profundity in sorrow.

  7. This is exquisite in the way it highlights pain and sorrow. I like the last lines...it brings about a resolution...forgiveness. Perfect...and are you back?


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

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