my last poem

aiming and failing again

if these

were my last words

to you

 

I might remind you

to be honest

 

in the way

I never could be.

 

I might say

 

that your voice

is the most important thing

 

always remember

to care for it.

 

You may wonder

 

how

 

you will live without me

 

but you will find me again

when the wind

brushes your cheek dry--

 

when the night

wraps you in gentle arms

and lays you down.

 

I cannot be all I want

just now

 

But one day . . .

 

I will be more.

Author's Note

if I were to be eaten by a tiger or give up writing for good these would not be the words I would leave behind, my legacy's a little lumpy and this is not useful at all

Reviews

[TAO]

Not useful? Makosica is right; who among us really finds our work useful? And yet, you are greater than most. I can only second what Makosica has already said. When I read this, it reminds me of the piece you did for "The Poet's Voice", hearing you read it aloud. Very well done, Emily Burns. We stand in awe.

[Jibey]

The brush of the wind and the wrapping of gentle arms... it is a consummation devoutly to be desired...

[.]

. when i'm not there ... you'll think of me ... every time you shed tears ... and wipe them too ... every time you think ... there was someone who tried to be their dream for themselves and everyone else too ... i won't say anything else ... i'm going before you ... through all this time ... you've been there for me ... you've taught me ... you've given me breaths to breathe ... you've given me heartbeats ... but most of all ... you've never judged me for being slow ... and for crying ... i'm going before you ... and that's final ...

[Wondering Mind]

Emily, surely not!
These are in reply to your post

When love’s fire falters; flicker fades away
And December winds chill cold the heart’s spring
When silent night speaks of another sad day
And no longer the lark does its love sing
Let not Time taint the ardor to decay
fight with fervor for love is everything

Rekindle with passion these fading fires
So the heart may sing, a lark, its desires

[theludus]

i see you working of the placement of words, the sonic quality of writing, not so much as it relates to sound, but timing.

athat is a very good thing i believe.

and this may be thoroughly useless because it isn't specific to this poem, but i often asked myself to write as if it were the last thing i would right, and in that way you at least try and put a megadose of feeling into it.

or if it was negative, negative stuff then i wanted someone to be gutpunched by the a b and c of what it wasn't and in that way i hoped to show how much what it was meant to know, and meant to lose.

everyone has soundtracks, well, that's one thing i often do is play music because it often replicates the magnificence of what love feels like, and the magnificence of loss, and again, i only say magnificent because the absence of one thing suggests the presence/one time-existence of another.

i write a lot of bleak stuff - i am sad.

i write a lot of bleak stuff - i have loved!

if i've been successful writing, i think mostly that comes down to the words having rhythm, representing notes, making music, telling a story,

it's narrating life, and therein lies the importance, no one life is the same.

i think you have to be prepared to adjust and adjust and adjust words, until they are music and story, and then you have to figure out the feeling you most want to say.

take the wickerman:

for me that's a poem about being shot, shot thought...... the most important thing though, i believe, is to say the feeling, and then people will, people do, they latch on to that, and who cares if it means dark red to them, when it was blue, usually, they'll connect.

so, if i was to suggest one thing, it would be to write you,

don't write to be elegant or because it has the feel of something that might be successful poetry, but write something that is uncompromisingly you.

[Anthony M Smith Jr]

I truly enjoyed your words and the way it made me feel. Kind of like you was talking to me. Like I was just carrying on my sightless ways and then see something shiny and bright and makes me put my thoughts aside and investigate.
Glad I did and glad you are my friend!
Life and Light to you and yours,
TT-TTO-NI-K
Elk

[Ed Hart]

the poet giveth, and the poet taketh away