and when you write, I write

Beautiful poem. i like the part where it mentions my name.

Re: and when you write, I write


I could not agree more !!! Lovely as always Letty - you are one of the very few people in this world who leaves me speechless !!

S.C. There is something about one's name that creates a special feeling. lol. Glad you liked it.

Gautam, thank you my friend, but there is no way you can remain speechless. The world needs your sounds of delight.

Gautam, where did SCoates go? When I found out how young he was, I think I should have written him a lullaby instead.

I have no clue !! If someone wrote a poem with my name in it - I would have have stalked them

And when you sing, I sing, dear Gautam,
And when you think I think.
Could this young man
To the manor born
So pithy and succinct,
Whose heart lies somewhere
Far down under
Chained to a silver link
Really be the golden child?

You can damn well bank on it.

Now stalk away!

Yes, yes, of course
The beauty of disclosure is a savory one indeed... It heralds much-wanted things for those of persistent stature. And, yes, yes, I am also one to have lost things in the finding, like the paper that falls to the far back corner under my bed when I swivel my chair to find a pen! But, no, no, there are other things that I've lost in the finding... but lets not get into that.

For Letty and people like her, whose considerate natures make marks on people's lives:

Around here, the mountains blot N-shapes,
And new leaves bustle through the hedges.
Birds fly around like loose coins.
I have no place in these combustions
That mark the sky with blue
Gashes upon their long likeness.
I would rather walk quite footless;
Minding the ground, perhaps, I'd think of you.

dickster and drom, May we always keep the word unconfined and "footless".

Undefined and rootless.

Dickster, poetry is the place to "get into anything"..and your pieces are prose poems that speak to us of sadness, but quietly shout.

Drom, a horn wails a tone poem. Sometimes it is a keening like the banshees of Ireland; sometimes gentle as the flow of Afton.

<stalking Letty>

<smile>I know that I'll be safe with you, Gautam, more's the pity.

I'm still around. I'm trying to add school and a newborn to my schedule, so I'm usually to burnt out to hop on here and chat. I would like to take you up on that lullaby offer.

I sang this to my daughter, SCoates. Perhaps it will do for your wee bairn.

There once was an Indian Maid,
A Shy little prairie maid,
Who'd sing all day her love song, gay
While on the plains she'd while the time away.

She loved a warrior bold,
This shy little maid of old,
But brave and gay,
He fell one day in battle far away.

Oh, the moon shines tonight on pretty red wing,
The breeze is sighing, the night birds crying,
Far away beneath the sod her brave is sleeping,
While red wing's weeping,
Her heart away.

ah, SCoates. how beautiful the sound of a mother's/father's voice
As they rock and sing...
You do the same for your child.

p.s. Going to play that on the piano right now.