"You Come Into MY House?!?..."

"World Poetry Open Mic Presentation 29 August 2014"

This is both new and a partial add-in repost of mine from a long ago site.  On Friday the 29 of August, 2014 web-a-sode of World Poetry Open Mic, while I was listening to a Poet (Dennis - who is also here at WC) I was moved to shelf a piece I had intended to present and to write part of this and to re-remember the rest.  The title was aptly given by Michael Amidei while I waited to present this now “new” piece.

 

“You Come Into MY House?!?...”

 

Dennis - touched me…

brought my mind

to my heart and changed just

where

my focus fell.

 

I remembered

this - the depth of feeling

and the tears

that nurtured my

Lizbeth …Rose…

 

"MAKE Me Feel..."

 

K... it was said a Poet

can MAKE you feel.

Is it true?  Can a poet

force you to FEEL -

something that you hadn't felt

before

or maybe hadn't known

before

or something you didn't

or don't WANT to know or remember?

 

I need to give this THOUGHT a lot

more space…

 

Until then let me entertain you

with this one - while my mind

is away …elsewhere...

 

It's an old-growth rose bush

there - just a little to the right,

outside my window.

 

At the best of times …now…

it's sort of scraggly, twisted -

time and weather worn

with that windblown aging

only old-growth rose bushes get - ya know?

 

The original cuttings packet said

"Disease-resistant" - like us all,

and even the weather-zone faced

covered damn near anywhere at all.

But …only a couple grew…

the others died with barely a sprout or bud

to mark their presence and they darkened -

turned twiglike

and gradually eroded away.

Life does that - hangs heavy

and nothing's ever fair.

 

But this one - this ONE,

took off like a bat-out-a-hell…

swore she was wild and had a mind all her own -

it spread, meandered and rooted again

and again… seemed to just move itself

all over the damn place,

time and life DO that - ya know?

Kept cutting it back - didn't help

tried fencing it in - and it grew over

and through all the damn links!

 

Man what a B***H! …chuckling here -

but also what a rose -

the buds she held opened

and damn what a sight!

Hues you can't just believe

till you see them - and

a fragrance that floats and lasts

and just …lasts…

even in winter's memories.

 

And then came the year -

the blight found us

and 'Disease-Resistant' took on a new meaning

and I watched as we died in pieces

tried all that I knew

and all that I could

and still pieces withered and dropped away.

The bush shrank back and back

and further still into itself...

and somehow her life remained

hidden - seemingly confused.

The tendrils intertwined with themselves

and the buds got fewer and fewer

and when they opened - if at all,

were seeming ghosts of themselves

just a bare echo of once was.

 

But it’s like a friend now, ya know?

 

You can love echoes

for the beauty you saw

and still see within...

and you can close your eyes

and remember all the …hues…

and the fragrance might be less lasting

but it’s still as sweet as ever was.

 

I won't let go…

Won’t let her go…

won't dig her out

and toss us away.  We earned the right

to be right THERE - just a little to the right

as I look out my window - coffee cup in hand

awaiting to see this year’s buds - cautiously open

and the petals touch the sun, feel the wind,

and glow again.  My 'Lizabeth' Rose.

 

Chris

Author's Note

feel free

An aside - we personify in many of our writings ... even I'm guilty. I have better defined the original I presented to more clearly reflect my original intent.

Serious illnesses and injuries - unto death - are NOT rare and we all know people deeply touched (even ourselves). Sometimes a reader listens and sometimes well, people are busy with their own moments.

Reviews

[olla]

I won't let go…
Won’t let her go…
won't dig her out
and toss us away. We earned the right
to be right THERE - just a little to the right
as I look out my window - coffee cup in hand
awaiting to see this year’s buds - cautiously open
and the petals touch the sun, feel the wind,
and glow again. My 'Lizabeth' Rose.

this is the part I love the most.. we really don't see from the inside out.. all the things we need to make us thrive.. and we don't always recognize that the investment we make in the survival of another life can create bonds.. like the twining of a rose shoot that wraps around our hearts and gives us a reason to check in from time to time.. if only to reaffirm our own survival.. and perhaps "Lizabeth" Rose hangs on just as dearly for that moment when you come by for a visit..

[Chris]

Life as we live it... thought-full-y.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

The written word expressed write can engage any mind and heart into a world they have never been before… quite an epic pice of poetry, I was listening when you read it last night.

[Chris]

Thanks man...I do hope more take their turn at the Mic - and open up more of the world for themselves. It makes the world a more real and friendlier place to share our thoughts and perceptions.

[Delmar Cooper]

I read this earlier then uploaded the WPOM archive and heard it. Both times I smelled those rose blooms. Thank you for sharing this.

[J. J. Nightingale]

You will always be
Until I can not..
A sweet and heartful
Memory

J.

[Emily B]

Oh, oh, you touched ny heart with your heart

[Chris]

Hi Em... how you holding up?

[Emily B]

ask me again tomorrow :)

[PloughBoy]

Excellent enjambment in this free verse. The free-falling narration flows smoothy, and the transition of thoughts carried along from one point to the next felt smooth and unrestrained. I will admit I'm not very adept at interpretative poetry, and this one calls for someone with far better interpretative skills than those I possess to do it true justice.

I did feel it was lovely, and I have my thoughts as to what I might think this is about. I will respectfully hold onto those and simply tell you that this evoked a plethora of emotions for me.

Well done.

[Chris]

"Semper Fi" 1968 - 1979. Always feel free to comment as you feel when you pause with my pieces. Many, including myself, write with levels of meaning for others to interpret as they will. Comments can and should start a dialogue and thought flows. This did speak on several levels ...endings and memories and dealing as we must. We lose "friends" and the ghosts do crowd close sometimes.

[PloughBoy]

Semper Fi to you as well, Chris. And yes, I have many old lingering ghosts that haunt me personally. When I writer poetry, I leave little to interpretation, that's just my style. I write what I mean, and I mean what I write. For Amazon.com, I rarely, if ever, review contemporary or interpretive poetry or prose. I'm just not good at it, for whatever reasons. I do try and get inside a person's heads, to feel what they feel, and experience the moment.

I wish I could have given you more, but I did enjoy what I read, for what it's worth.:)