An enquiry, simply

Perhaps they say it's easier to write 
when one's witnessed death, not this slow 
curl of yellow archways and young boys risking limbs 
up infant trees. If only Vikings were here to cause fear and full 
disclosure: of one's apparent sins, echoed in chapel light and trembling 
fingers, making peace with this over-and-under world so many have mentioned 
to be true. If only solace could be found in a bruised peach, and worry blown out 
the spit-infested end of a saxophone. There is too much longing here, unsaid, 
burdened with finite truth, which philosophers will always dare to conquer. 
Too many windows etched with sacrifice, over the simple joy 
into the unknown and pure, over the stony ripple of lakes 
high up in any mountain you would call 
your own. 

Reviews

[Amber Renee]

This is wonderful! Haunting and thrilling, slightly sad but still calling for change.

And I don't know if you meant for this, but the way the lines lengthen towards the middle gives it a sense of... urgency isn't the right word, but it's the only one I can find. It's like, as the lines got longer I began to read it more like a story, like I was being told plot. But as you ended the piece, you brought back its poem-like qualities, and finished it where we began.

Seriously, well done!

[poetdoug]

"If only solace could be found in a bruised peach, and worry blown ou the spit infested end of a saxophone." I identify with these prolific lines. Thanks

[Alone In A Crowd]

This is great, I love the imagery tou use in this piece. Well done, keep it up.

[Emily B]

finding you back is a little like finding that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow

[Emily B]

p. kuhl meet Jason Morales, you are both among my favorite poets on the cafe