howe

 

 

 

Wouldn't you think that of all the people on earth, those who have lived and died here, that someone could tell

me what the after life is like. What I should be prepared for. Whether I should look to the heavens, as the bright

lights of the perfume counter in Macy's, or with the oneiric placement of stones on a raging river to cross,

that reoccuring dream I have had since manhood, where I am lost with no food and a map of zigzag ontogeny

I purchased in the 80's  when the Marathon station on the corner sold maps and not just cigarettes and two

liter Pepsi's. And I had clawed my way through the thicket to find the unvarying spot where the water beat

the rocks with words and the strong sentences of Frost. And the sky the Iroquois indians  would call the

invisible spirit Keneun, 'thunder being the sound of his beating wings and lighting his flashing eyes', no less

a frightening image for an East side Detroiter; that perfumed onyx of a translucent chalcedony in parallel

layers of differing colors and me, half asleep, hating to get his shoes and socks wet and hesitating as only

uncertainty can allow for a person who can't swim and don't wish to learn. Hesitation. And I never do get across

and it is finally to be renamed a bad dream because I have to wake up to pee and drink what's left of the

two percent milk and walk around the room unable to find my other house shoe; my jammies dragging

in the wet, magnificent shoals.

Reviews

[Corset]

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you because no living mortal is allowed to have and hold that information, but i will tell you and not harm a single hair on your head my THEORY of what happens as only how it happened to me and what my experience was. :) and then i'll build bridge and sell it to yas :)

[Cool Handless Luke]

first off you are in detroit and the poem is titled howe - coincidence? lol. you do have an ability with words that reminds me of a more modern frost for some reason. the ending words are very poignant. a subject with much introspection and wonder in this world. we will find out when we find out. i like your craft here. the catchiness (new word) of how you phrase the simple things we do and face every day while tying it all in to the grand cosmic scheme of things. speaks of great intelligence and wisdom. well done!

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

The afterlife is always a whisper away from you. Look hard...yet do not look at all...cause it looks at you whenever your guard is down. And that's when you feel it most...and the effect of its constituents...on your earthly constitution. Its the salt in the porridge...the after-life is....and the sugar is the earthly experience...you can try to be the bowl and not the porridge...thus staying away from everything and yet containing all. Regards, Alienbaba.

[Tree]

Your poetry stands like a tall pine, here inside this marsh and thicket of words. A fine piece, where the dream world meets the other side and where both are interrupted by the real world. Evocative, from beginning to end. Dug that finish, too.

Excellent work, dana


Diego

[ba_mcfarlane]

The legend of an Afterlife is the weak excuse of those fearful of living, or just too f*****g dumb to grab life with wretched urgency from each moment to moment. Devour your life, all you can, until it is finally dead and gone....then you can pass with a sweet and sated smile on your lips.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Dana.

this is an incredible journey...and yes, i agree..you would think someone could have come back and told us by now what exactly to expect---

there are so many possibilities...but we keep waking up from the dreams, never finding conclusion.

[Emily B]

you see as much of the after life as any other being, it is all in how you interpret the visions

[TL Boehm]

Holy cow.

Whether I should look to the heavens, as the bright

lights of the perfume counter in Macy's, or with the oneiric placement of stones on a raging river to cross,

that perfumed onyx of a translucent chalcedony in parallel

layers of differing colors and me, half asleep, hating to get his shoes and socks wet and hesitating as only

uncertainty can allow for a person who can't swim and don't wish to learn

This thing is amazing! I love a poem that just spills out over its words and floods me with thoughts. Impressive!

[Emily B]

Tam meet Dana. My manners are lacking. Isn't he amazing?

[TL Boehm]

yes, and then some!

[Corset]

he's mine! Mine! lol, just kidding, but I did find him first! ok well maybe I didn't , Em found him first, ok ..hmmm, weeeeeeeeeell, fine then, F-I-N-E.

[Emily B]

i can share - can't monopolize all the stunning, elegant and gifted gentleman in the café . . .

[Corset]

lol, no, no I suppose not, I am just playing of course! :) :)

[Emily B]

of course :)))

[Corset]

Let's wake him up >:P

[Corset]

do you have any ready whip in a can on you? Finger paints? Melted chocolate? No? damn, magic markers? Come on! your a mom you gotta have some magic markers!

[Corset]

warm water in a bowl?

[Emily B]

sorry, working diligently or something :)

the kids like to paint fingernails and toenails, except anna she likes non-washable markers, that roosters been crowing for hours, i'm surprised it hasn't raised everybody

[Corset]

well if it hasn't roused them by now, then they must need the sleep, i'll go sit in front of the tv then and watch the show.