jim

2026-08-07
I was going to say it's lucky to have such friends, but it isn't luck, is it? It's cultivating those friendships, which isn't always easy. It's as much about giving as receiving.

I say this for myself as well as in response to your poem.

2026-08-07
I see this cinematically, in black and white, except for the Spangles. I see it play out until:

"Are we nearly there yet?"

Then, fade out . . . and, cut!

2026-08-07
in a nutshell? . . .
nurture your garden
it will nurture you.

2026-08-05
So very happy to read your words again. You've been missed.

2026-08-04
I feel the same way about poetry, it must happen, vital as the sun on overcast day.

You have a magical way with words, and kindness. The two go together beautifully.

2026-08-04
Mankind is unique our ability to self-destruct.

I love your descriptive words languidly flowing down the page, in keeping with the giraffe's flowing length.

2026-08-04
Brevity belies depth, this is beautiful in the most bittersweet way.

2026-08-04
I have no words, just a feeling of love and compassion for your and yours.

2026-08-04
There is no incentive to equalize the disparity. Wealth buys votes. Change is stifled at the top.

Ironically, and sadly, those most effected vote against their own interests all too often.

That can change.

2026-08-04
This is s beautiful tribute, absolutely lovely. The whole poem captivated me, these two lines seems to touch the essence of it.

'Witness to gentleness and intimacy
Writing its story with each caress'

2026-08-04
Optimism is preciously rare these days, but very much welcome.

2026-08-03
Thisl, and 'The Cove of the Unremembered', are tales (or realities) that light the way for others as mentor and protector.

They are romantic and lonely poems, poems of sacrifice. So it seems to me.

2026-08-03
Living inland as I do, I find poems of the sea and shore romantic and mysterious, a world I find very hard to imagine, because without the sound of waves, and the gulls, and all the things that touch the senses it is unimaginable. Your poem provides all I need to see it.

Though, it is still mysterious.

2026-08-02
A riddle? I see black and red in the shade.

2026-08-02
Or perhaps a knight, but the metaphor works for any seeker of independence I think.

2026-08-01
Lovely! It's rich, the words flow down the page naturally, it's a pleasure to read, and reread.

I see face on a wall, a photograph, with others like her. Whether or not that's the reality, I think the fondness for her is the point, not the details.

Thank you for sharing.

2026-07-30
I enjoy your poems so much. This makes me smile, cheers me from within.

2026-07-30
This resonates with me, in particular

"In a society where “Made It”
Defines an abysmal view of greatness
That sucks all humanity into a vacuum

That lacks qualities of a teachers
Text of forgiveness, care and wisdom
Of all our peers that excludes no one"

~

That say so much, and means so much. Is truth.

2026-07-30
You and arquious both wrote about footsteps, "The shallow trench of your stride." Both about longing & reaching out for someone who isn't there.

"Some Days", yep.

2026-07-30
I had not heard of Gilbert Cesbron. I read a little about him online, and am intrigued. I couldn't find the music.

2026-07-30
Amen, brother.

Martha and I have been essentially trapped inside most of July from extreme heat and humidity, Heat Dome, they call it, I call it Hell, then smoke.

I think of children born into this mess.

2026-07-30
This is one to print and keep close at hand. The images are ones I want to think about and remember.

2026-07-30
Although I see an hour glass by your side, at first glance, and second glance, I thought it was a glass of white wine. That threw me off a bit.

Your poem has so many layers and ideas, it's taken me a while to see the whole of it. I think I do. I'm thinking now about what power we have within us, "if only we would KNOW it." The idea is slippery, I can't get a hold of it. Yet.

2026-07-28
Wishing a return to health for Charlotte, and well-being for you, peter.

2026-07-27
Though I know only your "written" voice, not your actual voice, I still hear a voice, this is a very oral poem. I imagine a noir voice, Philip Marlow, perhaps. Yet, there is a surrealism which is separate from the noir-voice.

Anyway! Lots of atmosphere—the ruminating hallway, the morphing receipt, the coughing radio—these are images which make the poem more than a voice.

2026-07-26
You have a way of getting to the heart of it. Thank you for voicing what so many of us feel.

It's hollowing out our hearts and souls, this endless corrosiveness.

2026-07-23
A great deal of the world you describe is a world I once knew. I could dive deeply, and surface with a world of my own images—for now, I am appreciating your words, your images. Your eloquence.

2026-07-21
I like this very much, the story it tells and the way you tell it.

The last two lines took me totally by surprise, not expecting the sense of release you describe, the rejoicing. Not only did it surprise me, it gave me a sense of hope and peace, the notion of shedding the last earthy bonds—something of that nature, something ethereal, something beautiful.

2026-07-20
Antonio, I just finished your latest poem, and trying to think of what to say about it. I would repeat what I wrote for your first. I'm absolutely enthralled by your writing. It's unique, it's personal without being overly so, it's complex without being complicated, it's everything a poem should be.

See you in another two months?

2026-07-20
I would like that because I'll never go to Morocco, and I am pretty sure I'll never win the Tour de France. I would like to have the sensations and the experience.

2026-07-19
I have this imagery in my head now, the luna moth—I remember the first time I saw one, a warm Missouri evening under a yard light, c. 1976. Something surreal about them, other-worldly. Almost frightening. Beautiful.

2026-07-19
Your poem would make a great lesson-piece for a poetry seminar,
a jumping-off point for discussion.

The chocolate cake analogy brings to mind Paradise Lost, I can't help it, it's one chocolate cake after another, after another, after another . . .

Great poem. Food for thought.

2026-07-19
Memories as independent entities, what a fascinating concept.

I love the rhymes and imagery. I have this floating around in my thoughts now: "With crest of hope and blue jay feather"

It's always great to read your poems, Dave.

2026-07-18
The four poems you posted today are full of wisdom and forgiveness and honesty, and most of all love. I feel the warmth of your words in my heart.

2026-07-18
I don't know what to say about this vivid, cinematic poem (with sound track).

I'll try—the images are precise and the final stanza sobering, I'm reading and reading, loving it, but finality of the end is stark. Beautifully written, rich in atmosphere and experience and reality.

2026-07-16
We've see change beyond belief in our lifetime. Could we go back to the 50's paradigm, would we? What we have now is out of control, as you so ably write.

Would I go back. You bet. Maybe we'd get it right the second time, knowing what we know. Though, probably not.

2026-07-16
So true.

2026-07-16
This is so lyrical, I wonder is you have chords for it. A wonderful song/poem.

2026-07-14
This is SO sweet, and so beautifully written, Marie. Also, quaint, it reminds me of simpler time, before computers and gadgetry. I remember my mother knitting or doing needle-point in the den in the evenings while my father read or watching something on tv. It is a good memory and I owe it to your poem.

It's a wonderful thing to have a person like your Auntie Mae in your life, I don't and wish I did.

jim

2026-07-13
Dammit, I got it wrong, I meant blank verse. I'm so sorry!

Milton, right?

2026-07-13
Your free verse suits you so well, i admire and admire and admire it.

2026-07-07
Oh, "even the moon asking ...

where's its other half ..."

is heart-breaking.

Such sweet/sad lines, salem~~~

2026-07-06
It is beautiful, as Melinda said. This stanza seemed to capture the essence of your lovely poem:

And when the world feels cold and lost,
When shadows hide the road ahead,
You become my guiding heaven,
A constellation where I'm led.

~

Thank you for sharing,
jim

2026-07-06
I had a persistent, intrusive, thought as I read:

Milton.

2026-07-06
If yours is vin rouge, and Melinda's is bourbon, what is mine?

Lemonade? Kefir? Cold water?

Don't know!

Great poem, Allen.

2026-07-04
You have a gift, and you use it very well.

2026-07-04
I find this profound, the way you touch on aloneness (not lonely), and solitude, and choice. Whoever walks the beach alone asks to be joined or not to be joined. I think you state it perfectly:

It is to stay a stranger to the feast,


starving politely on the porch of human grace.

2026-07-04
Perhaps only the songbird and orchid know.

2026-07-03
Dark Shadows,
beautiful writing.

2026-07-03
As did I. This rings true. Still walking differently. Not necessarily thrilled about it.