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The RetroLounge Daily Poem Thread (Wed 6/14/06)

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RetroLounge Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 12:26 PM
Original message
The RetroLounge Daily Poem Thread (Wed 6/14/06)
True Love

In the middle of the night, when we get up
after making love, we look at each other in
complete friendship, we know so fully
what the other has been doing. Bound to each other
like mountaineers coming down from a mountain,
bound with the tie of the delivery room,
we wander down the hall to the bathroom, I can
hardly walk, I wobble through the granular
shadowless air, I know where you are
with my eyes closed, we are bound to each other
with huge invisible threads, our sexes
muted, exhausted, crushed, the whole
body a sex—surely this
is the most blessed time of my life,
our children asleep in their beds, each fate
like a vein of abiding mineral
not discovered yet. I sit
on the toilet in the night, you are somewhere in the room,
I open the window and snow has fallen in a
steep drift, against the pane, I
look up, into it,
a wall of cold crystals, silent
and glistening, I quietly call to you
and you come and hold my hand and I say
I cannot see beyond it. I cannot see beyond.

Sharon Olds

********************

RL

If you have a request for a certain Poet, post their name in the thread and I will find a poem by them and post it...

if you want to see some of my poetry, see the blog at:
http://www.myspace.com/retropaul
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miss_american_pie Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 12:30 PM
Response to Original message
1. That's lovely
each fate
like a vein of abiding mineral
not discovered yet.
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RetroLounge Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 12:33 PM
Response to Reply #1
2. Yeah, having kids, that hit home for me...
and you too, I would guess.

:hi:

RL
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miss_american_pie Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 12:35 PM
Response to Reply #2
3. Yeah
One of my favorite things about little ones is the not knowing what they'll turn out to be.
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RetroLounge Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 12:36 PM
Response to Reply #3
4. Yeah, and in my case, letting them be who they are
and not F*cking them up too much...

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin

RL
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miss_american_pie Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 12:42 PM
Response to Reply #4
5. ...
All The Things You Are Not Yet
Helen Dunmore

for tess

Tonight there's a crowd in my head:
all the things you are not yet.
You are words without paper, pages
sighing in summer forests, gardens
where builders stub out their rubble
and plastic oozes its sweat.
All the things you are, you are not yet.

Not yet the lonely window in midwinter
with the whine of tea on an empty stomach,
not yet the heating you can't afford and must wait for,
tamping a coin in on each hour.
Not the gorgeous shush of restaurant doors
and their interiors, always so much smaller.
Not the smell of the newsprint, the blur
on your fingertips — your fame. Not yet

the love you will have for Winter Pearmains
and Chanel No 5 — and then your being unable
to buy both washing-machine and computer
when your baby's due to be born,
and my voice saying, "I'll get you one"
and you frowning, frowning
at walls and surfaces which are not mine —
all this, not yet. Give me your hand,

that small one without a mark of work on it,
the one that's strange to the washing-up bowl
and doesn't know Fairy Liquid for whiskey.
Not yet the moment of your arrival in taxis
at daring destinations, or your being alone at stations
with the skirts of your fashionable clothes flapping
and no money for the telephone.

Not yet the moment when I can give you nothing
so well-folded it fits in an envelope —
a dull letter you won't reread.
Not yet the moment of your assimilation
in that river flowing westward: rivers of clothes,
of dreams, an accent unlike my own
saying to someone I don't know: darling...
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lizziegrace Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 12:43 PM
Response to Reply #4
6. Even when they're technically grown
you still wonder what they'll be and what kind of life awaits them.

Loved the poem RL. I've decided that the kind of love expressed is rare.

:hug:
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RetroLounge Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 04:50 PM
Response to Reply #6
7. Yes, very rare
:hi:

RL
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RetroLounge Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Jun-14-06 06:09 PM
Response to Original message
8. Afternoon Kick
:kick:

I thought Sharon Olds would get more comments...

RL
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