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Sunday, March 26, 2017

Casked



Casked

I am the cask and the imbimber
Come to a stop at the base of
your rolling foothills resting on
velvety sweet green on this morn
Come to a stop at the base of
your rolling foothills of this long
journey – months falling into years
longing for a whisper through my
slatted boards, longing for a passing
touch – day to day – month to month
adds molten time to the burgeoning
pain – I can feel the blood red of me
bubble through a slivered crack here
and there – once I was the vine - the 
wine - the beginning and all for you -
loved you and was loved in return – 
now I lay pulped strained -
     Cask and imbiber of all that was and
     all that seems will never be …trapped
     here at the foothills of your indifference
     left to inhale the scents of the stew
       of life swirling outside – I exist on sips
       of perhaps…here hidden in the sunshine
       history and future-decomposing in a field
       of butterflies and smoke


The Sunday Whirl
Photo -Peter Griffin

15 comments:

  1. Wonderful poem, this. So powerful, dear Pearl, the pain penetrating...

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  2. I can feel the blood red of me
    bubble through a slivered crack here
    and there – once I was the vine - the
    wine - the beginning and all for you -


    So beautiful!

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  3. I hope for more butterflies than smoke.

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  4. So many memorable phrases here. "Exist on a sip of perhaps" is only one that drew me in. Lovely writing!

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  5. Beautiful descriptions here, Pearl, but I really am sorry that I am not quite sure what is being described. I seem to have missed the clues.

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    1. I never use the wordle words as more than inspiration for a poem that springs as a free association... nevertheless..suppose that the notion here is that the cask is both the outer sense of self and inner core...and so the cask now marginalized to a stop at a point of another's indifference (or perhaps the world's indifference) is both the holder of all that was and leaking and sipping its own contents...or something like that... as I said I just write them down... Thank you for stopping and replying!!

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  6. "Now i exist on sips of perhaps........." i can feel the forlorn-ness of the narrator. Well captured, Pearl.

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  7. Wow, 'the foothills of your indifference' and 'I exist on sips of perhaps'---so very evocative and incredibly telling in such a devastating way.

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  8. I was hoping for a happier essay from the grapes, certainly not regret that they could be free to do their own thing and not be some other creature's slave. Perhaps they are like dogs and need a master?

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  9. Now, that's a neat trick (or difficult task): being both cask and imbiber at the same time!

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  10. I really enjoyed your piece with all it's imagery. I especially liked the open and closing lines, for me how they both complete your poem (don't know if I explained myself well there, but I know what I mean)

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  11. Wonderfully described, and strikes me as a powerful metaphor too, perhaps for a personal relationship or perhaps for humanity's relationship with God.

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  12. I love this, especially, Pearl:
    "I can feel the blood red of me
    bubble through a slivered crack"

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  13. Oh my! Thank you dear ones - your comments fill and sustain me - you are so very far from anything "virtual" to me - lodged and warming the very core of my poet place within my soul.

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