It's gone Neruda

It’s gone Neruda

And it was at that age… poetry left,

I didn’t notice it leave until now.

I couldn’t find it in the streets or the shady

howl of subway tunnels, where it is needed

to light up hidden graffiti.

 

But of course there were more words to write!

I know their syllables,

their sounds

and how they hit the lips and

merge into thought to be carried on

for as long as their beauty will carry them. 

 

And yet I couldn’t find that spark among the prompts

up on the classroom whiteboard or in the tired

eyes of the students who wrote them " no!

 

None of them burned with Neruda’s fire.

 

But I still remember when it touched me, oh!

I must never forget that spark in my soul,

those pulses

that were unique to me,

exhilarating shocks

that threw me into words,

words with nothing behind them.

 

They had no substance or experience

and they had more energy for it. They were plasma balls

that hum out messy thoughts and possess the hand

so it cuts off the blank page mid-sigh to

leave it scrawled on and used.

 

There was no fear in these lines, nothing was conducting them.

They had no place to be or songs to sing.

Their honesty let them live despite the critic’s grin,

for these were the words that led critics to gin.

 

These were the words that brought us back

from the grey and the sane, for they injected us with

their spirit and their pain. These were the words

that I needed.

 

These were the words…

 

Where are they now?

Did I read too much or too little and

will I ever feel them again?

Reviews

[Tony Jordan]

An awesome homage.
I love the critics led to gin line...really witty
I remember the first time I truly heard poetry (thanks to a great English teacher we had) - he made me feel like I was choking when he said the words 'Gas Gas quick lads' (Wilfred Owen's 'Dulce Et Decorum Est)
I think you have a poets soul so no doubt you will hear once more.

[Ed Hart]

yes, Neruda, words of fire and magic