I wasn't in the workshop for nothing


Beth, just between teeth, the songs
have flooded over us now and left
you smelling of wet earth and sticks

when there are no walls, just between
white trees and white skies, the songs
made the tender heart visible as a star.

I ate that star. I drank the oil. Now
my engines are smooth and going
over the edge of the moon. Now, I’m the eye

in my grandfather’s wood, carving the
morning dove out of the deck and
tired of rain. Now, you made the song

spill over the dancing feet, rush like
after a great run, you contained all
my tears on your salty skin. It was

on my wedding day and I ran through
flooding water with one song going
through me like a morning dove through

the open mouth of the sun. Now, I’m
sure the words weren’t right. Now,
I’m sure I was blinded and searching

these streets for an aisle, for my flowers,
for you telling me there is no man.
Now, I’m the years in my grandfather’s

wood with his patterns and dyes, after the sands
took off the rough voice and which tune
to use every day, the tools humming.

Now, I’m carved out of an image, every one of
them standing at the river and waiting
for the end of the world.


Wow @Daze, you’re a fantastic writer. This is really good.

1 Like

I appreciate your response, thank you.

1 Like

I can kind of see that. very poetic and well said. did you love your grandfather? Quite a letter.

1 Like

Nice one @Daze. Good to see you’re still writing.

1 Like

thank you, this is an older one.

love your Charlie Brown, :slight_smile:

1 Like

I think I’ve done my duty to my generation.

I still remember all of them, my classmates.

1 Like

that poem is not sz. what duty daze?

This topic was automatically closed 95 days after the last reply. New replies are no longer allowed.