On You, Across The Table

We all want to believe our children will love us
Hold us, kiss us, stay with us,
and wrap their little hands around our fingers
Big eyes watch big people with big love

But they're a squirmy type
Run away, out of our arms
No matter how far we stretch

Exploring dust bunnies in corners
Carrying shoes to bury in the sand box
They all, will all, run away

And you see then,
Perhaps they are not yours.

Individuals behind those big eyes
And we, again, are left to watch
Like past loves left,
Mother, fathers, gone,
And a thousand friends,
drifted away

We own no one,
Our children owe nothing
And we will all realize how little we are
How alone we are

And in that we must find some happiness
We must find some truth
For them, for us,
For you

Reviews

[Nathan Strange]

Hey man, Charles, I've never read much of your stuff and I'm not gonna blow sunshine up your arse as you are the owner of the website. Let me tell you something pal, this is f*****g good mate. It sums up how I feel at the moment! I'm just sitting in front of my computer screen waiting for the computer to speak to me, waiting for reviews. I'm too tired to review at the moment, I can't think let alone read!
I have a beer in front of me sitting by the keyboard. My forehead is creased up, my eyes black, yet I sit here endlessly, waiting for inspiration to write something. I have this dying urge to want to produce just something, even if it's tedious, yet I know that I'm in no state of mind to write anything half decent.
I saw you were on line and thought, let me read something of Charles's for once. He is responsible for this site. Well man your words spoke to me, that last stanza;

Unable to maintain this moment
This connection
This intimacy
Required to record it
Such is the curse of a writer

[Caitlin Shapland]

this reminds me of a song by jewel

i dunno the name

but it goes something like this

they were painters and they painted themselves, lovely

and it is about this couple who painted

they painted eachother

and the husband painted so much of his life into his art, his body gave out first, and he left his wife one of his paintings that still contained him

it was amazing

c a i t

[Nihad Dweidary]

Feeling the curse of having to record feelings rather than absorbing the quietness of the moment. The "intimate" is sacrificed for the talent's compelling urge. How many other things did we sacrafice to birth these words from the mind's womb? I shook many a table in my time, too. ;-) No "pretenses" here, though. A writer's got to do what an writer's got to do. Excellent poem, Charlie!

-Nihad

[Rosa Sophia]

This is beautiful. Those last few lines really speak to me, because that's exactly how I feel. Nicely done. Thanks for posting this.

Rosy

[Kenny Blade]

Unable to maintain this moment
This connection
This intimacy
Required to record it
Such is the curse of a writer
The pretense of an author
Who wills away days
Writing, and believing
It's more important than living

I am hearing you loud and clear on this my friend.

Very nice piece

Peace
KBlade

[G.f. Snell Iii]

Hi Charles:
Jess says that same irritating line to me, too: "I like your poetry better than your prose." But she has a point because this poem just smacks. It's got so much life that you can hear in breathing. You feel the blood pumping through it.

I read it three times and discovered another nuance each time. The delivery is confident, the voice passionate and the word choice marvelous. The first stanza is wonderful and only put to shame by the last two lines -- which crackle with energy.

Wonderful poem.

[Jess Myers]

I like your poetry better than your prose (not that your prose is bad from what I've read, just maybe a bit underdeveloped in its raw stages). This, on the other hand, is really a great example of what poetry is meant to do. I love the way the last two lines resonate against the rest of the piece. Such an elegant conclusion to what was so beautifully said. I'm going to shelve it and share it.

[Annelise]

There's a dream like quality to this. I really love it, alot. "Writing and believing, It's more important than living." God I love that line. It is a really beautiful poem.

[Amy Widmer]

such soft, erotic imagery... very beautiful.

[Amy Nixon]

"required to record it
Such is the curse of a writer"
Love the word choice...it often seems a requirement to record life as we see it as writers. I see this as a blessing and a curse. Sometimes, when it becomes more important than living, we end up alone, as you so nicely put in your ending. In my poem, "The Dreamer Gently Weeps", there is a line, "for dreamers know that dreamers live their lives all alone". Your poem reminds me of that same idea of lonliness.
Beautiful work. I really enjoyed reading it.

[Jeanmarie Flaherty]

"Writing, and believing
It's more important than living"


I have noticed the creations of life that are made with words, how frogs become princes despite the appearance of warts on our skin now......brilliant piece, you know, interesting imagery, and the disconnection in the writing, the descriptions of the table, of the objects around add to the idea of breaking away from a person who is with you....

wonderful write !!!

~JMM.