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Array
(
[sid] => 148940
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Fragments, Spring and Summer, 1999
[time] => 2009-04-05 19:50:05
[hometext] => fragments of thoughts on spring and summer of 1999, beginning (appropriately enough) March 18th, and ending mid-August.
[bodytext] => words, words, words and what are words...? words are ink, words are paper, words are life to me… …yes Peace, you knew it! you must have been the first to know that words are life to me… …words, words, words ink and paper, tears and blood. *** “sometimes when I get discouraged I like to listen to Christian music.. like DC Talk, or the Katinas.. and it always makes me feel… so much lighter.” “Yes, of course my maybe-Indian-girl, how good, how right that the music makes you feel light” *** I have walked these woods a thousand times, ancient echoes following… …but today, a deeper place than this, and I am following the trail of the maybe-indian-bride, who runs on ahead of me, …not to escape, only to lead me forward... I know that she is an Indian bride, pledged to the sacred ceremony of her people… …and I am chasing, to know, if she is a bride for me… …or for another? And still she is fading away, maybe beyond my power, more likely beyond her own, and fading into the sunset like so many others before… …fading into the Spirit she loved so much… …as she had confided in me when we spoke, that time… …and now she is gone, and I am sitting here in this ancient green forest, on a flat rock-slab at the edge of my lake… …new lake… …watching for her return, but waiting, waiting, waiting, and somehow knowing, she will not return… …this bride of another. *** though you wrote about violets you were always a sunflower though you talked about magic you were always a realist and, dear sunshine, though you sang about freedom it was a high you never knew *** they are gone, gone, gone, every one gone... the bubbling brook has flowed far, far away from here to bigger, better rivers of delight and gladness, thinking, in her churning not of me. and my maybe-Indian-bride...the one who never even knew that she was, has gone her way as well to chant a deeper prayer on the rolling prairies. my special sunrise, the comforting guru has faded at last to day, to noon, to dusk to night and others, so many others... ...poets, every one! ...and every one of them, with a flower in one hand and verse in the other... ...every one of them has left me now and is so far removed, so distantly far away that even if I chased them and found them our words would fall flat as ice still, even knowing this, why does my heart ache for them as if they had only left an hour ago?... [comments] => 2 [counter] => 188 [topic] => 21 [informant] => 3660days [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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