| Come, come whoever you are,
wanderer, worshipper,
lover of leaving, come.
Come even though you have broken
your vow a thousand times.
Come, and come yet again,
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
| whispers: 49 echoes of the wind or whisper to me   |
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The impossibility of our saying the truth, even when we feel it, makes us speak as poets.
-Ranciere
| | whispers: whisper to me |
| | Tags: | love | | Security: | | | Time: | 11:17 pm |
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"Just killing the blues, I've been killing the blues..."
hi journal, it's been a while. i've missed you. | | whispers: whisper to me |
| | Tags: | poetry | | Security: | | | Time: | 10:07 pm |
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Once again, I'm trying this poetry thing.
Hello poetry, how do you do.
Here's my name, oh but I can't
say my name.
Here's my thoughts, and terribly
sorry, I forgot I can't say my thoughts.
So. This is me. The things I want
to say I can't. All day long I hide
behind half-thoughts and
secrets. Reading The Art of
War. Always on my tippy toes.
Afraid to lose my voice. That
real voice inside that body afraid
to go out to the kitchen.
Thunder and grey skies. Sweltering
heat. I pretend I'm in some magic
novel. On the edge of the balcony,
ready to fly out. Waiting for the sign.
With each rumble of thunder I wait.
| | whispers: whisper to me |
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It doesn't hit the way you think,
like sledgehammers in the dark.
It creeps up, maybe
or maybe not.
Maybe it's that feeling
when I see this photo,
taken by this guy I don't
even know, of some night sky
crowned with stars and think how
I could once recognize
the constellations,
some feeling almost there,
a strange sense of loss
for something that could have
been dreamt up. Shiverings
of me, this madwomen,
feeling out of sorts that four
months ago she
could have seen that same
night sky and dismissed it
for all its ordinariness,
for all its closeness and not
this faraway-ness, this curious
sensation of distance and sorrow. | | whispers: whisper to me |
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When I was young, younger than before
I never saw the truth hanging from the door
And now I'm older see it face to face
And now I'm older gotta get up clean the place.
And I was green, greener than the hill
Where flowers grew and the sun shone still
Now I'm darker than the deepest sea
Just hand me down, give me a place to be.
Entire album always makes me sad. | | whispers: whisper to me |
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Critics say that America is a lie because its reality falls so far short of its ideals. They are wrong. America is not a lie; it is a disappointment. But it can be a disappointment only because it is also a hope.
-Samuel P. Huntington |
| | whispers: whisper to me |
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