OUCH, what a heart breaking poem... it bleeds the silence and anger of "all that remains are metered thorns / sonnets darkly etched upon my breast," I love these lines too, " and I'm left trembling / withering on an exhaled vine"... the emptiness that flow through your poem is palpable and leaves the reader feeling betrayed by silence and in need of warmth of loudly "rose painted hues"... And as usual, the music adds a deeper dimension to your words... ok think I will go listen to Mozart's "Requiem" and cheer up some... you always make my heart burn Frieda... and I love you for it
~~redzone
OUCH, what a heart breaking poem... it bleeds the silence and anger of "all that remains are metered thorns / sonnets darkly etched upon my breast," I love these lines too, " and I'm left trembling / withering on an exhaled vine"... the emptiness that flow through your poem is palpable and leaves the reader feeling betrayed by silence and in need of warmth of loudly "rose painted hues"... And as usual, the music adds a deeper dimension to your words... ok think I will go listen to Mozart's "Requiem" and cheer up some... you always make my heart burn Frieda... and I love you for it
~~redzone
I felt sadness and a little anger in this poem today Frieda P. Still I find I wander about your words and the path always leads me to brilliant. This was great. I really enjoyed this today.
I read a quote the other day that rather neatly sums up what you are saying here, saying very well, I might add.
"A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." THOMAS MANN
To me, this poem is a crying out. We create from the depth of pain and the height of joy. But it's all a cunningly crafted wall, a disconnectedness we're striving to get beyond. We set our poetry on the page, hoping to expurgate the past we don't want to come from and to elucidate the now, the future we want to create.
That emptiness, that dissatisfaction with your abilities and the feeling of not yet there is what brings one masterpiece after another. Burn, burn, burn and give light. O Mistress of Words!thou shall never relent !
I am left wondering if all the verse, all of the stanza, all of the poetry would be better left unwritten. So many sad words. So many lonely minutes spent wondering. Our songs no matter the theme are the only tune we have to sing. Wonderful writing.
Frieda, this one is sad and soulful again. You have such tremendous range. I am in awe to sit and read your work and am almost embarrassed to have you read mine. You do silly, soulful, seductive, playful, dark and disturbing, all with the same quintessential elegance. Thank you for allowing me to be your online friend so I can sit here and read these great pieces...you are wonderful! :) One thing:
Since my internet was knocked out for three weeks, I have 280 read requests piled up high in my little box. Please give me a chance to go through them for a couple of weeks, and please don't send me any more until I wade through this list...ok? Thank you!!!
Normally, I have the headphones on, listening while I read or write. When I stop by here, I have to put the music on pause, never knowing what I will see or hear.
If you want to know me, read my poetry, it's all in there. I am a mother of three sons (my finest moments) a sister, a survivor and a little bit crazy. I lost my beloved sister to suicide, so you'll.. more..