"...you, me: we" - though separated by distance at times - keep those we love close, in our dreams, in our thoughts, as lines upon a page. For me, this piece honors the unknowable breadth and depth of love. I find it translucent, though it is transparent in many places - those gentle illusions that make the distance bearable... do nothing at all to detract from its strength and honesty. I know you seek to write that which will "endure"; you have said as much elsewhere. Perhaps, in some distant time, another "you, me: we" will read these lines once again and, by so doing, revive your thoughts as homage. It would be well deserved.
I give up. I tried so hard to quote a line. I don't want to quote the entire poem. I really believe you are one of the greatest poets I've ever read, and that includes the romantics, whom I hold so highly. Your poetry reminds me of Lord Byron's in its sweet and gently melodies. The way you shape such highly refined vocabulary to suit the framework of meter is a lesson in poetry all by itself. "the sweet coercion of your gentle moves", "and I acquiesce and fold into you" are great examples. Poetry like this is not just a delight for the eyes, but also for the ears, for to read out lines such as "Delights and passions and butter cream nights" is just heavenly. I can praise your poetry all day long. I'll just stop and add this to my favourites :)
This poem is magical.
I have goosebumps still.
You have a powerful voice, expression, and mastery of words.
Your words penetrate and linger, they stir up deep emotions and cause them to rise up and demand to be felt, their presence alive.
I wish I had the power to reveal to you what this poem is...something other, something divine, something beautiful, something that brings sorrow and yet elicits the purest delight.
This poem is utter perfection!
We is a subject of hope for so many... memories to keep the parting bearable... breathe-able. I find my own memories of times - flow with the emotional need for sharing steps and paths. And when the paths diverge, yes - surviving hurts. You give a softness that draws and leave wishes within.
There is an insubstantiality about your work that belies your existence in the corporeal world. As I read, visions of hair, pen, hands and ink flow through my mind, but twist, turn, fade and obscure themselves as you squirm through flowers, leaves, bowers wings and night. I'm left with a quill, a hand, poised to write...
Poetry has been my passion since I was about fifteen years old, and I love the structure of rhyme and meter moreso than just randomly throwing words upon a page without any form whatsoever.
Whi.. more..