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Post by LeoVictorBriones (poetremains) on Mar 14, 2008 17:10:58 GMT -5
If this is the age of nothingness—
Then count me a fool to think
of this skin and these veins as more than dust.
If this is the age of the unrepentant—
then stack my lies like porcelain plates,
for I am convinced God distributes mercy
like mustard seeds on the wind.
If I believe the power of a sigh
can convince the soul of its jubilant shades—
then throw my body from the rim of Popocatepetl
and burn me in the caldera of my ancestors.
Even so, I must admit—
it is cold, I am lonely
and I have yet
to hear even one spirit speak.
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Post by MichaelFirewalker on Mar 14, 2008 19:48:21 GMT -5
who is it, do you suppose, who sang this song of wisdom upward from your deep and silent soul?
michael
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Post by Tina (Firefly) on Mar 14, 2008 20:56:02 GMT -5
Wow, Leo.
Even after all this time of reading your work, you still take me by surprise. This speaks in extraordinary language and the more I read it, the more it sings. In my personal opinion, it could be even more powerful if you restructure the lines a bit:
If this is the age of nothingness,
then count me a fool to think
of this skin and this vein
as more than dust.
If this is the age of the unrepentant,
then stack my lies, for I am convinced
that God distributes mercy
like mustard seeds on the wind. (What a brilliant line.)
If I am to believe the power of a sigh
can convince the soul of its shades of magnanimity,
then throw my body from the rim of Halaakala (strike Popocatepe)
and burn me in the cauldron of my ancestors.
As crickets chirp in the night, and musty pine scents the forest,
I light a fire, and listen for the ghosts of ticking time--
my thoughts a silent rebellion against
modern suppositions.
Still, I must admit I am lonely,
and it is oh, so cold,
I have yet to hear a single ghost utter
a single word.
Just my "take" on this unique piece. I really like it. Tina
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Post by wavemaker9 (Rick D.) on Mar 14, 2008 23:42:56 GMT -5
my thoughts a silent rebellion against
what those who have become too modern suppose.
Still, I must admit—
it is cold and I am lonely
and I have yet to hear even one ghost's utter.
This stands alone as you.
When you hear ghosts, you may be one. Forunately you are alive and relevent.
R
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Post by LeoVictorBriones (poetremains) on Mar 21, 2008 14:03:01 GMT -5
Final draft, I think.
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Post by mfwilkie on Mar 21, 2008 14:27:27 GMT -5
If this (is) the age of the unrepentant— a typo
of this skin and this vein as more than dust.
Leo, Should this vein be these veins?
And in this stanza, each time I read it, I think I'm missing something.
If I believe the power of a sigh
can convince the soul of its jubilant shades—
then throw my body from the rim of Popocatepetl
and burn me in the caldera of my ancestors.
What if you said:
And if I am wrong to believe the power of a sigh
can convince the soul of its jubilant shades
then throw my body from the rim of Popocatepetl
and burn me in the caldera of my ancestors.
Maggie
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Post by LynnDoiron on Mar 21, 2008 14:46:00 GMT -5
I agree with Maggie, esp. regarding the clarity in that power of a sigh stanza; her suggested rewrite makes the stanza clear and understandable. Great poem,, leo.
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Post by Sherry Thrasher on Mar 21, 2008 15:29:13 GMT -5
Thank God that it is not a sin to sigh....sigh.
If this is the age of the unrepentant—
then stack my lies like porcelain plates,
for I am convinced God distributes mercy
like mustard seeds on the wind.
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