jgdittier wrote on Jan 1^st, 1970 at 12:00am:



as if done by paranormal means. . .yes. . .I totally understand that. . .

it's how I write best I feel. . .in natural flow with the stream of thoughts. . .wherever they come from. . .

Thanks.

~Ren~

Just_Daniel wrote on Jan 1^st, 1970 at 12:00am:

Well, you've inspired another riposte, Rene.  I'm not sure of the quality of this one, but at least it's in the genre I'm trying to foster this month: tanka... maybe ?

no bries to knight

from trundled sofa
still feel commuters training;
idyllic wind chimes
wringing out through fish-shaped holes
re-stationing scattered chads

I bit the Apple;
now I’m driven away
to my own garden
chez my silent rabbit hole,
drag on with a Cheshire smile

© MLee Dickens'son 01 May 2007

spinning off Lightly, Daniel  8)

Dear duetsdove,
Interesting that Dan senses your composing "Now I AM..." and my sensing that it's wwitten as if in a moment of unrestrained feelings, the images as they came to you being directly transcribed to words with no composing at all. 
I just sense a refreshing naturalness with this one as if done by a paranormal means.
Cheers,    Ron   jgd

Such a wonderful description of the train station setting there at Norm and Vicki's place, Ren!  Really masterfully written!  You capture the experience and the mixing and leaving behind and taking forward of pieces of lives into other places... and the memory and spectre of continuing to do the same ad infinitum.

And the parenthesis is wonderfully placed as well.  How nice it is to live within the words of a poem so!

Love in Light, Daniel  8)

This morning when I woke
there was no train trundling by
with its round-faced conductor
punching fish-shaped chads onto the floor
leaving a carpet,
pieces of which stick on the bottom of shoes
to be carried then scattered
from station to station,

my life intertwined with his life,
with her life.

This morning when I woke,
there were no soft sounds of an idyllic life
lived on the edge yet right in the center.

(Did you know how still I lay,
afraid to disturb the normal vibrations of movement.)

Tonight I cannot sit on the sofa,
a mystic breeze light upon my hair
and listen to the commuters
step away from the business of bustle
into the business of letting down,
some of them Alice,
some of them the Queen of Hearts
or the Cheshire cat,
and some of them always. . .the White Rabbit.

But again tonight, like last night,
when I curl within my silent neighborhood,
they will know that I am here,
nothing will be missing, nothing will be out of sync --

all the while hearing the horn of the train
as its ghost stops
on the platform of my thoughts
and gathers a spectre of me
into another place.

~Rene~ Schwiesow