may

forgive the punctuation

i have not been well for some time

been common, been familiar

sacrificed day walks for the pretentious stare

like some prostituted transaction 

between the universe and i

then found myself alone in front of a bad screenplay

wondering why the world 

accepts crap for art

(i've seen cowpiles delivered with more panache)

where has my old friend gone?

he dared to sacrifice the aesthetics of his poetry's form

by jutting the edges with the unconventional.

i miss his bravery so dearly.

perhaps soon i will see him again

in the midst of a melody

i feel myself lingering on

forgive the crassness, the cynicism

like i said, 

i have not been well for some time

as my old friend use to say

there is more poetry in the petal of a daisy

than in all of the minds in this one horse town

i can't believe i hung up on him

in the middle of his accusation

and forgot to pray

but in the morning as i shave for church

i'll sense his presence

and i'll hear the song we wrote together

my quandary exists in its perception you see

for as i say that i am not well

it speaks of a mirror that refuses to reflect

any light but mine

and it blocks out my old friends

those who taught me how to see and feel,

they taught me how to paint,

how play the piano,

how to properly punctuate my ideas

i suppose my maturity was a symptom

that i mistook for the disease

because it wasn't maturity at all

but rather a mistaken case of misinterpretation

it was only me refusing the obvious

and intoxicating my pride

yes old friend, i remember now

the daisy became a lei

its poetry found the neck of beauty

around a filipino dancer

and i forgot

i am changing the direction of my light again

i have not been well

but i have been worse

and tomorrow morning i will open a bible

and remember why i wrote you

why i fell in love with her

and i will pray for us all

Reviews

[LadyAnn68]

This was truly thought out and a very good write. Bravo.

[Rita L. Sev]

I get a feeling of one talking to himself, searching for the young man that once was, and now hides in the shadows... Love and poetry, light and prayer... ways to find him again, perhaps. A thoughtful and meaningful poem, Xavier.

[Claire in VA]

Our inner struggles hound us daily if we let them.
I love your style here.
It's very real.

[Linda alexander]

yes old friend, i remember now
the daisy became a lei
its poetry found the neck of beauty
around a filipino dancer
and i forgot
It is hard to comment, but one thing I know for sure your friend is with you always , and he definitely wants to see you as not succumbing to harsh realities, at times they are with us more alive than anyone else, take care

[Vidya Bacchus]

It feels like the poet is so sad and trying to explain to himself more than anyone else.When loved ones pass away we are suddenly faced with our own mortality and the hope that we lived it well :)

[Lydia Shutter]

I love the honesty, the stream of consciousness, and the plain talking in this one. Perhaps poetry will help heal you. Lydi**

[Corset]

The spirit of healing that flows through this piece is just so amazing, it's very much like a confessional, we often fall in love with the people who embody the essence of who we would like to be like ourselves, and this expresses so beautifully exactly that.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this is really cool...i see it a little differently....i relate in this way, i have found my writing sometimes feels stale and commonplace...i feel a block towards writing something out of the ordinary...like i have become a non-risk taker with the words...and it makes me feel as a stagnant writer...i try to remember those chances i took, writing outside the box, and want to go there again...

be reborn to what i used to be..write those words again that perpetuate interest.

[Bright Ocean Star]

musings of an author toward the end of his life, when his best friends begin to die around him and he begins to feel the sting of his own mortality....Very nicely penned, Xavier. Congratulations!

[Lyn Anderson]

My own impression of this piece was of an author wrestling with himself, and speaking to himself, as an old friend he had lost. Anyway, a great piece. One thing, and I am sure the purists for rhythm syllable count, whatever might argue, so feel free to disregard, but I want to say crassness, not crass. Anyway, just an opinion. Either way, a fine write.

[m.s.early]

KL you are dynamic and point. Thank you for your review. You nailed it :)

[Lyn Anderson]

You are very welcome, my friend.